


He's Kind of a Hairy Fairy

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Castiel, Bisexual Dean, Blow Jobs, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cursed Dean, Dean Winchester's Inner Child, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, Demiromantic Castiel, Fairy Dean, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Illustrated, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic Realism, Meddling Rowena, Mutual Masturbation, Romance, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Summer Camp, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Teacher Castiel, Teacher Dean, Wings, Witch Castiel, oh my god they were roommates, witch rowena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19132585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: AU. Dean agreed to help Sam run this summer camp, but he didn't know he'd have to share a cabin and a bed with his own best friend. No biggie, though. It's platonic. Except Cas goes and confesses his love for the sake of honesty. Dean's not ready to say it back. The only way anyone's getting an "I love you too" out of him is if some meddling witch curses him with fairy wings, and in order to break the spell he has to give in to his heart's true desires. And THAT's not gonna happen at a perfectly normal forest camp in Idaho... right?





	He's Kind of a Hairy Fairy

**Author's Note:**

> •*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*✧[ **Fic masterpost**](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/185441818655/deancasreversebang-title-hes-kind-of-a-hairy)
> 
> Beta'd by [Libby](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/), [Amara](http://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/), [Katie](http://crab-full-of-rocks.tumblr.com/), and [Joanjun](https://roisu10.tumblr.com/)!! I wrote this fic during a suuuuper bad health phase, when I had absolutely no sense of editing judgement, planning at the same time I was typing because I had no energy to spare at all, and these angels (especially Libby and Amara) helped me figure out where I was going with this. Now I have some judgement back, I'm like... yeah, we did awesome. This is the fic I intended to write all along. ♥
> 
> Shoutout to my Dean/Cas Reverse Bang artist, [hit_the_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books), and [this magical piece of art](https://hitthebooksposts.tumblr.com/post/185274369599/deancas-reverse-bang-2019). Happily for me, I got to write yet another fairy-and/or-witch-related story, and I love those the most. Well, y'know, besides "Oh My God They Were Roommates And There Was Only One Bed" stories. Which this is. c:

   
Dean wasn’t a fan of sleeping in the wild, but he could still appreciate a good forest when he was upright and conscious. He took his duffel bag from his car and headed towards the X on his map, alone, taking the time to draw in the sights.

He could smell woodsmoke, caught up in a basal gust of damp woodchips and dirt. Looking between the treetops, he let out a sigh of delight, seeing orange fluff combed across a lilac sky. The clouds blazed in the sunset, the faintest white dot of an airplane disappearing as it rose up, out of the fading sunlight.

He put his head down and watched where he stepped in his flip-flops, as the grass grew thicker here, and the ground was lumpier. He kept to the thin path, until suddenly it widened out, and he came to a clearing. There was a sunshade propped under the trees, and a line of bunting and string lights led to the peaked roof of a wood cabin.

Dean grinned, making his way up three mossy wooden steps. The porch was damp, but the lights were already on inside, and they banished the oncoming gloom. It looked so cozy...

Dean opened the door, almost _excited_ —

“Cas! Whoa!” Dean raised both hands in front of his eyes, as Castiel lowered both hands over his crotch.

“Dean!” Castiel looked at Dean wide-eyed. “What are you doing here?”

“Me? What are _you_ doing here? This is my cabin. Put some clothes on, jeez.”

“ _Your_ cabin?” Castiel hurried away, tossing his bath towel on the double bed, quickly rummaging for modesty. He put those ugly yellow pants on, Dean could tell, because he heard the _screep? skoot, skkff_ of thick waxed cotton rubbing against itself. The sound of the industrial-strength zipper was intense.

“Apologies,” Castiel said, when he was dressed. “I thought I’d be alone.”

Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Least I’ll have some company, right?” He sauntered into the warm room, finally closing the door behind him. “I don’t mind a roommate who washes.” He put his bag on the circular dining table, seeing two folding chairs there. He looked around, spying the windowed door to the bathroom on the left, a privacy shade drawn down on the other side. There was an open archway to the kitchen two steps along. Through the archway Dean saw the fridge, and the stove, and some pans hung over a line of windows.

Dean looked around, as Cas packed laundry back into his bag on the double bed.

“Um,” Dean said, taking another quick look around. “Where’s the other bed?”

“What other bed?” Castiel asked.

Dean’s lower lip bobbed. “You know. The bed. The bed for sleeping. The bed for me sleeping by myself, and not with a six-foot banker who wears crunchy pants you can hear and _see_ coming a mile away.”

Castiel squinted, crowding his blue eyes with fine wrinkles.

Dean sighed, bowing his head in defeat. “Sam set us up. I’m gonna kill him.”

“I don’t recommend that,” Castiel said, still squinting. “Given how hard it is to dispose of sewage and food waste around here, I doubt getting rid of a body would be easy, either.”

Dean caught his eyes, then laughed when he realised Cas was joking. Of course he was joking. Dean went up to him and clapped him on the back, shaking his head. “I missed you, man. What’s it been, two months?”

“Six days, Dean,” Castiel said flatly. “We both attended Sam’s pre-camp staff meeting. You stole the mini sausage rolls off my plate and replaced them with quiches and thought I wouldn’t notice.”

“Yeahyeahyeah, but I mean, like, personal, non-business.”

“Charlie’s wedding? Or the bat mitzvah for Aaron’s daughter.”

“No, dude, I mean since you and me just... hung out. Had a drink. Talked. You know?” Hands washed, Dean poked his head into the fridge, approving of its cleanliness. He glanced back at Cas, who now leaned on the archway, arms folded, watching Dean with open curiosity. “I know we only ever hang out these days ‘cause Sam made us, but we’re still friends.”

“Of course... We’re friends,” Castiel smiled. He started to grin soon after, eyes crinkling as he looked down. “I didn’t realise you thought so.”

“Wait— _What_?! Cas,” Dean went up to Cas and looked him in the eye, both hands on his bare shoulders. “Buddy. You gotta be kidding me. I let you borrow my _car_.”

Castiel looked carefully into his eyes. Left. Right. Unsure.

“We’re friends,” Dean said firmly, resisting an eye-roll. “Like maybe best friends, who knows. How do you not _know_ that, dude?” he added in concern. He slumped, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bet it’s my fault, ain’t it? I’m, uh... not really the ‘straight-up tell people how you feel about them’ kinda person.”

“Well, that’s certainly not true,” Castiel said. “You were very quick to tell me I was a naive douchebag within five minutes of meeting me the first time.”

“Pff. You had _no_ idea how to behave at a barbeque pool party. It was warranted.”

“I still don’t know what I did wrong.”

Dean looked at Cas carefully, sucking his lower lip as he thought back. “Come to think of it, I can’t even remember. I was super depressed back then.”

Castiel hummed sympathetically. “Figures.”

“Anyway,” Dean said, “ _Wow_. I gotta be more up-front with you. I’ve known you, what, four, five years? You and a bunch of other nerdy weirdos yanked me outta the darkest time of my goddamn life, and you’re only today getting into your head that I even _like_ you. Cas, we’re _friends_. Okay? We’ve been good, close friends a long time. I’m kind of mad you never realised.”

Castiel seemed to blush, hiding it with a head-turn and a hair-scratch.

“You’re exactly the same as you were back then,” Dean said dazedly. “Aren’t you.”

Castiel caught Dean’s eyes. Cas’ gaze was bluer than the bluest of skies, and a thousand times as thrilling to look at. “Perhaps,” Castiel said, too softly for his deep voice to catch, leaving only a whisper to fall from his pink lips. “Or maybe I’ve changed too subtly for you to notice.”

Dean smiled lopsidedly, then sobered as Cas turned away.

Damn.

Seriously, _damn_. Dean had thought they were on the same page. Yeah, Cas had finally got it into his head that they were friends. But he’d somehow gone about stealing from Dean’s plate, listening to his work stories, telling him when he had bad breath, fixing his hair, and borrowing Dean’s spare razor after sleeping over on his and Sam’s couch, for _years_ , all this time thinking they were no more than acquaintances.

Until now, Dean had been fully convinced Cas had a massive gay crush on him. Given they were in their forties now, it hardly counted as a crush, and Dean kind of assumed Cas was in love with him. Which was nice, because Dean loved him right back. But he’d long-ago concluded that neither of them would dare make a move, because being twin supporting pillars in Sam’s community projects was what linked them, and one wrong move in a personal situation could topple an empire of goodwill.

However, Dean was now left wondering if this was simply how Cas acted with _all_ his ‘acquaintances’. No sense of personal space. Not gay, just confident, and socially oblivious.

Dean sighed, disappointed.

Cas had gone back to his bed, Dean’s bed – their bed. Cas took his bag, and Dean’s bag off the table, and set them both on the floor by a wooden wall.

“Let’s have dinner,” Castiel said. “I’ll chop the vegetables, you cook. Practise some of that Camp Sawtooth teamwork.”

Dean gulped. “Okay.”

It sucked, but he knew now that he couldn’t say anything to Cas. The guy only just figured out they were _friends_. Revealing the whole truth would be too much, too soon.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Camp Sawtooth had been up and running for six years now. It was Sam’s pet project. Every summer he’d leave the corporate world behind and head out to hike the forest and swim the lakes, climb mountains, and parent fifty kids as well as his Golden Retriever, Bones.

He’d rope in his friends – Castiel, who he knew from his riverbank cleanup crew; Charlie, who he knew through Dean’s D&D games; Rowena, who he clearly met while visiting eighteenth-century Scotland in a time machine; and Eileen, who was either a nurse at a retirement home, or a secret agent, but Dean had never figured out which.

Dean always assisted with the organisational set-up, but this was the first time he had agreed to help out on-site. He loved hanging out with kids, and he liked rock-climbing and archery and grilling sausages over campfires, but there were hardly enough words in the English language to explain how much he’d prefer to avoid what Sam affectionately called The Wilderness.

They’d gone camping as kids.

They’d survived.

Dean was never doing that again.

He was very thankful, therefore, that this year Sam had secured Dean a log cabin for himself. No bed mites. No birds tweeting at four a.m.. Yes, a shower with temperature and pressure control. Yes, a front door, not a zipper. And an in-cabin kitchenette, with a working fridge and a stove.

Well... it wasn’t just Dean’s cabin, now. He was sharing. With his best friend, no less. Was this random chance, or did Dean have Sam to thank for this?

Cas wasn’t trying to be funny. He didn’t make ‘jokes’, as such. He tended to simply state the obvious when Dean least expected it, and somehow it was hilarious. Dean was mid-way through a weak-kneed guffaw over “Perhaps the waterproof pants _are_ a bit much for indoors,” when there was a knock on the door.

Dean made his way over, still sniffling and giggling to himself. He was blurry-eyed when he opened the door, chuckling, “Hey, Sammy, what’s up?” when he saw who was out there.

“Oh. You seem... happy.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Dean complained, as Bones pushed past Sam’s knees and padded into the cabin, sniffing everything. Dean turned to chase the dog, snapping, “Heyheyhey, _out_ , I specifically requested no mud!”

Bones had found Castiel halfway out of his yellow pants, and barreled into him, paws up – Castiel fell over backwards onto the bed with a yelp, and Dean hurried to rescue him, laughing, since Castiel was laughing too.

Dean shoved the dog in his brother’s direction, trying to look cross but accidentally grinning. “Get your mutt outta here, Sammy. And close the door, you’re letting the moths in.”

“Sorry,” Sam said. He shooed Bones out, then said, “You didn’t check in with me before you headed out here. Rule _one_ of camp, Dean: don’t go anywhere without telling someone first. I only knew you’d arrived because I found the Impala outside my prefab office.”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged. “Noted. Been catching up with Cas. It’s been a hot minute since the two of us hung out.”

“And you... you don’t mind,” Sam said tentatively, “that you’re sharing a cabin.”

“Why would I?” Dean patted Sam on the shoulder, angling him back to the door. “C’mon, it’s Cas. We’re like, best friends.” Dean shot Cas a fond look, watching him jump into a borrowed pair of Dean’s jeans. Castiel looked back, soft-eyed and affectionate. Dean winked at him, then leaned shieldingly on the door frame, now that Sam and his dog were outside.

“You’re sure?” Sam seemed highly uncertain. “It was a last-minute idea, I figured Cas could give you some teaching pointers, I know you’re kind of nervous about the Camp Guide thing.”

“Nervous? Who said I was nervous? I’m not nervous.”

Sam snorted fondly. “Come on. At the very least, I thought maybe you’d come barging up to me and demand I kick Cas out. Make him sleep in a communal cabin like the _other_ camp staff.”

“Dude. What kind of asshole do you think I am?” Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Dean stuck a finger towards him and added, “Don’t answer that.” He gave Sam a quick smile. “Swear to ya, Sammy, so long as you don’t make me wear yellow waterproof pants like Cas, I’m good. How hard is it to boss some kids around, anyway?”

“Uh. The pants are all Cas’ thing.”

“Thank God.”

“But,” Sam said, “I am gonna need you to wear the camp t-shirt so everyone knows you’re staff.” He fished a folded blue t-shirt out of his fanny pack, and Dean took it, then lifted it.

Plain v-neck. He rotated it and breathed a sigh of relief when the back only had a screenprinted forest logo with the text ‘ _Camp Sawtooth, Idaho_ ’ circled around the art. “I got jeans that’ll go great with this.”

“Flip-flops, though?” Sam said, looking at Dean’s feet. “That’s your idea of fashion?”

“If you got it, flaunt it, right?” Dean said, lifting a foot to show off his manly pedicure. “They don’t say it, but the ladies love a guy with pretty feet.”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Put boots on, Dean. There’s tics and rocks and sunburn out here.”

“Gotcha.” Dean shot Sam a pair of lazy finger guns.

“And for the record, you’re not out here to _boss_ kids around. You’re here as adult supervision, yeah, but I also figured... I don’t know, maybe you’d have something valuable to teach them. Show off your can-do attitude. Activate their sense of make-believe, turn this into an adventure.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean was distracted by a woman approaching on the path down below, past Sam’s wide shoulders.

“Saaamuel?” A mature warble of a voice cut through the birdsong, and Sam turned to see the slinky middle-aged redhead waving at him from the bottom of the steps, bundles of herbs in her hands. “I’ve been looking for you— Oh! This must be your brother.” Dean parted his lips, skin prickling as the woman checked him out and judged him at the same time. “Somehow I thought he’d be taller.”

“I’m six-two,” Dean grunted, folding his arms.

“Aye,” the woman said in disappointment. “Ah well.” She turned to Sam. “Are you quite sure, my dear, that I can’t add a few magic ingredients to our supper for tomorrow night? These wee bairns always have such terrible acne, and frogs in their throats, and I tell you, Sam, one dash of hog’s breath in their stew and they’ll be—”

“ _No_ , Rowena,” Sam said, frustrated, like he’d said it a dozen times before. “No magic potions. No unauthorised ingredients. It’s a summer camp! They’re pre-pubescent kids, the bad side of puberty’s as much a part of growing up as singing around a campfire.”

Rowena sighed, rolling her eyes.

Dean snorted towards Sam. “You got a _witch_ on your team?”

Rowena looked at Dean curiously. “Do you believe in magic, child?”

“‘ _Child_ ’?” Dean snorted again. “Lady, I’m forty.”

“I said what I said.”

“No,” Dean said brutishly. “Don’t believe in magic. But I believe Sammy here’s about as hippy-dippy as they come, and it’s barely a stone’s throw between singing _Kumbaya_ and calling vegetable soup a ‘potion’.”

Rowena looked as if she was about to reply, but then looked fondly at Sam. Sam chuckled, ducking his head. “Vegetables are kind of magical, when you think about it,” he muttered, as Rowena left, smirking back at him.

Dean shook his head, starting to grin. He lifted his official t-shirt in a lazy toast, gave his brother an upward nod, then cocked his head towards the cabin. “I still gotta get settled. The kids arrive by bus tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. You’re teaching a kayaking class at ten-thirty.”

“Ten-thirty?” Dean checked his watch. “Morning or evening?”

“Morning,” Sam said with a scoff. “Check your schedule. Eileen and I start prepping staff breakfasts at five a.m. – but right now there’s still setups and double-checks to do, so you’re welcome to join us—”

“Uh. No. Thank you.” Dean held the door, ready to close it. “I only just got here.”

“Yeah, and I wasn’t going to mention you got here late, but since you brought it up—”

“Okay, okay!” Dean threw up his hands along with his limp t-shirt. “I’ll put boots on and help you drag the lake before it gets dark, or whatever. But I’m not getting in the water.”

“Drag the—” Sam huffed. “Do you even know what you’re meant to be doing? Did you read my email briefing?”

Dean nodded and shook his head, bumbling his way in retreat back into the cabin. “Cas has me covered. Right, Cas?” he called back.

“What?” Cas said distantly.

“Yeah.” Dean smiled charismatically at Sam, having skipped the homework and hoping he could win Sam over the way he always won over his school teachers. “I’ll ask Cas.”

Sam sighed, on the verge of laughing. “Look just— Never mind. Take the evening off, talk to Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget Charlie and Eileen are putting on their little play on Thursday. You’re welcome to do a performance too, if you want—”

“Uh-huh, pass.”

“Dean—”

“I said _pass_ ,” Dean insisted. “Get another one of your freakshow friends to do a song and dance.”

“You can partner with Cas, if that helps. You wouldn’t be up on stage alone.”

Dean hated that he paused to consider that. Then he shook his head. “Nn-nn.”

“Okay. Well. Think about it.”

“Since when did ‘no’ mean ‘convince me’?” Dean uttered. “‘Night, Sam. Sleep tight! Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“Okay, _okay_ , I’m going. Welcome to Camp Sawtooth,” Sam sighed. He managed to smile, and with some warmth, he added, “I’m really glad you came. But for the love of God, don’t make me regret it.”

Dean smiled, clapped his brother on the shoulder, then shut the door, hearing a farewell bark from the dog.

Dean ruffled his hair as he went back to Cas, who sat on the bed. The closer he got, the higher Dean’s smile rose. “You ready for bed already?”

“Hardly,” Castiel said. “I just put jeans on.”

“Yeah?” Dean eyed those jeans, appreciating how they fit so snugly around Castiel’s thick thighs. “You, uh. You go au naturale when you sleep, or...?”

“Not if you’re here,” Castiel said.

“Bummer,” Dean teased, reaching to pull his own shirt off. “You got any complaints if I...?”

“What, sleep naked?” Castiel spoke without tone, but his eyes betrayed his imaginings; he glanced to Dean’s crotch, then his bowlegs, then back to his eyes. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Dean grinned as he bit his lip, letting Cas watch as he undid his pants. His boxers were definitely tighter than usual as he set bare feet on the wood.

“Although I should warn you that under emergency circumstances,” Castiel said, “we could potentially be thrust out into the forest as we are, wearing whatever we happen to have donned. And there are children out there. Besides, you and I need to go over the safety protocols before we sleep.”

Dean cocked his head in acknowledgement. “Batman boxers it is.” He snapped the elastic against his hip, again drawing Cas’ attention down. “You take night or morning showers?”

“Night,” Castiel said. “Clearly. You walked in when I got out.”

“Sweet.” Dean threw himself onto the bed, kicking Castiel’s side gently. “Water’ll be warm again by morning, I’ll wash up then.”

“Delightful,” Castiel said. “I’ll be pressed up against a musky, sweaty arm all night.”

“More than an arm,” Dean mused, sitting up and looking at the bed. “This thing’s pretty narrow, and we’re not exactly fun-size. Me, I’m a chunky-ass KitKat right here, and you’re— Hm. You’re nougat. Three Musketeers, maybe.”

“Milky Way. And no, I’m more substantial than that.”

“Mars Bar?”

“Mars Bar,” Castiel agreed. “Crisp and crackly out of the fridge.”

Dean licked his lips. “Please tell me you brought chocolate. I brought, like, a hundred boiled candies, but no chocolate. I’m jonesin’ now.”

“Backpack, front pocket,” Castiel said, eyes a-twinkle. “Let’s go through the prep for the camp, and we’ll share it after. You can have the bigger half.”

Dean grinned in delight. “Oh my God, Cas, I love yo—hhh...” He gulped. “Love big, chunky, gooey candy. Mm-hm.”

Castiel smiled. “I love big, chunky, gooey candy too.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Nearly three hours passed before Castiel was convinced Dean fully comprehended his role here at Camp Sawtooth. Dean pretended he wasn’t overwhelmed by the legal forms, silly mnemonics for remembering emergency protocols, and the fifteen nature worksheets he had to memorise before explaining them to the kids – because he wasn’t overwhelmed, he’d _got_ this – but he was definitely starting to question if he’d really agreed to what he _thought_ he’d agreed to.

He wasn’t out here to tell chilling stories around a campfire while doling out marshmallows and grilling sausages. That was part of it, sure, but his job came closer to a safety-instructor-meets-therapist than a chef-meets-cool-uncle. He wondered if Sam had duped him to get him here, or if Dean had misinterpreted all of his many, many emails. Either way, Sam had definitely played up the ‘fun’ aspect of camp, leaving out the part where Dean had to be a responsible adult and didn’t actually get to participate the same way the kids did.

Dean didn’t have to say aloud he was getting overwhelmed. Castiel saw him sigh, run his hands aggressively back through his hair, and he knew.

“I advise that we take a break,” Castiel said, placing a hand on Dean’s. “We can return to all this tomorrow. The kids won’t arrive until about ten, so there’s time. My first activity is an art class. I’m quite excited. I’ve been practising using watercolour.”

Dean rubbed his eyes, head bent over the paper-scattered table.

“Come on,” Castiel said kindly. “Let’s break out the chocolate.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Castiel cut the chocolate with a sharp knife on a white plate, then set down the knife and spun the plate so Dean got the big bit.

Dean purred deeply as he lifted a chunk, which drooled a thin wisp of caramel. “Mmm,” he hummed, filling his parted lips with a dense mouthful. “Mmm.”

Castiel watched him fondly.

Dean noticed he was being observed, and grinned, chewing with his mouth open. “Don’t just sit there, you freak. Eat somethin’.”

“If you insist.” Castiel cut a thin slice and ate.

Dean scowled, half-amused, half-offended. “You raised by the Queen of England, or what? Dude. C’mere.” He beckoned, and when Castiel leaned forward over the table, Dean offered Cas his own chocolate half, parting his lips and saying “Ah?” to make Castiel open his mouth.

Castiel held Dean’s eyes as he bit down, fed the warm end of Dean’s half. Dean almost moaned as Castiel broke away his thick bite and started to chew.

A flustered look came over Dean, and he gasped quietly, head down. He gulped, dropping his chocolate chunk on the plate. But after a moment he looked back up, gazing into Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel smiled at him, appreciating having been fed. Had he expected it? No. Did he have any complaints? Not one.

Dean ate the rest of his half almost in silence, while Castiel fingered the plate crumbs into patterns, squashing them until they melted, and then smearing the smudges into lovehearts.

Dean didn’t seem to notice, and Castiel smudged the hearts away before Dean could look down.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Chocolate shared as a delectable and well-deserved treat, and teeth now brushed, Dean and Castiel finally stood at the foot of the bed, looking at it. Dean wrapped his arms around his bare middle, while Castiel did up the last two buttons on his actual pyjama shirt. (It was striped, blue, with piped lapels and a collar.)

“Look, I’m just gonna say it,” Dean forced out. “This one-bed thing is weird for me. I sleep with people, sure, but it’s— I haven’t done platonic bed-sharing in a long time. Last person was Sam, as a _kid_. Nearly thirty years ago.”

“Sharing a bed is a... sexual act for you,” Castiel stated.

Dean bristled. “Don’t hafta say it straight-up like that, man.”

“You started it,” Castiel retorted. “Full disclosure. No, it’s good. It’s good, Dean, we should be honest about this beforehand. Sharing a space this way is... it’s intimate, isn’t it? It would be intimate for anyone. Physical. Sensual.” He gazed at Dean as he spoke. “You may not have shared a bed platonically in a long time, but I don’t think that means it’ll be hard to remember how to do.”

Dean huffed shyly, looking away, hugging himself tighter. “You’re overestimating me, Cas. This is gonna be awkward for both of us.” He bowed his chin to his chest, and murmured, “Don’t judge me if I— if I get a boner, okay? I can’t help it. My brain’s hard-wired to find body heat exciting. Plus, no offence, you smell – really, really good.”

Castiel stared.

Dean started to blush, gulping and looking away.

“Full disclosure,” Castiel said again, quietly, perhaps to Dean, perhaps to himself.

Dean looked at him curiously.

Castiel gazed back, lips parting. “There’s something I should perhaps tell you.”

“What?” Dean glanced to Castiel’s lips, as if his secret was already spoken, and he could see it written there.

Castiel gulped. “I only—” He fretted, lowering his head and rubbing a hand across his forehead. “I wouldn’t consider telling you this. It’s just that, if there is to be informed consent here—”

“ _Consent_ —” Dean spluttered. “Cas, we’re not gonna bang, we’re sleeping a little closer than—”

“We cannot make it through the night without significant contact,” Castiel said firmly, cutting Dean off. He almost glared, holding Dean’s eyes. “The bed is small, we are large, there will be touching. You may be aroused. This requires consent.”

“Okay, fine.” Dean folded his arms.

“And I—” Castiel took a deep breath, eyes rising to the ceiling beams. He sighed, eyes shut, then he turned to peek at Dean, tilting his head, parting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I have feelings for you.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“I just! I feel it’s necessary that you know. You’re calling this platonic, but to share a bed under that pretence feels dishonest to me.”

Dean started to laugh, hands over his face. “Oh my God.” He parted his hands, laughed again, then paced away, shaking his head. “Oh my God, Cas. Seriously?”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered. “I never meant to feel this way about you.”

“Hey,” Dean grinned, rocking up to Cas and gently punching his chest. “I get it, man, I’m smoking hot.”

“No,” Castiel squinted. “No, Dean, I— It’s romantic. I mean, yes, it’s sensual and aesthetic as well, and... and perhaps sexual. But.” He gulped. “But my primary attraction to you is—”

“Romantic? What does that mean for you, exactly?” Dean asked, sobering for the sake of a serious conversation. He’d been right all along. Cas did have a crush on him. It was kind of a relief to know, honestly.

“It— It started when we helped Sam move house, and you... you were singing along to the stereo, cheering Sam and me to sing along too. But I barely knew the lyrics, I don’t even remember what song it was. And you—” Castiel smiled as he thought back, eyes drifting towards the kitchenette. “You thought I left, but I came back because the box I was carrying didn’t have enough tape holding it closed... And I came to the kitchen door, and you were in there, singing, dancing. Using a spatula as a microphone. You sounded terrible.”

Incredulous, Dean scoffed, “And you fell madly in love with me from _that_?”

“What? No. That was simply the moment when I first felt attracted to you. At the time it wasn’t much more than a flutter in my chest and a smile. But after that moment, I— I’ve felt the same, and more, every time I see you, think about you...”

Dean blinked a few times. “Sam moved... before he got Bones... and we did Bones’ birthday party... couple months back—” Dean gasped at looked up at Cas. “You’ve liked me for three freaking _years_?”

“I’ve liked you since the moment we met,” Castiel corrected. “I’ve only loved you for two years.”

Dean’s heart had started to pound. _Loved you. Loved you. Loved._

“My attraction to you—” Castiel rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on the bed. “Mostly it means I want to be near you a lot. I feel a thrill when we’re close. Which is why— Why I had to tell you. Sharing a bed would be very exciting for me. And if that makes you uncomfortable I’m sure Sam could wrangle an air mattress from somewhere. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Dean shook his head. Partly in awe. Partly because there was no way of knowing where that air mattress had been, so the mere idea of it was outlawed.

“But,” Dean said, “you do find me hot, right?”

Castiel looked at him carefully.

“Like,” Dean wet his lips, “you’d maybe wanna kiss me? And look at me naked?”

Castiel looked at Dean’s lips, nodding.

Dean grinned. “Okay. Thank God. Makin’ myself pretty wasn’t a waste of time, effort, and money.” He plopped his ass down on the side of the bed, grinning at his friend. “Look!” He offered Cas one bare foot. “Cute feet, right?”

Castiel looked in perplexion at Dean’s foot. “What?”

“Okay, fine, I’ll admit it, maybe I do the pedicure thing for _me_. But I tell Sam it’s for the ladies.” Dean shrugged. “Or the fellas. I don’t discriminate.”

Castiel blinked rapidly. “Dean, what’s happening?”

“We’re gonna share a bed, dumbass, what’d you think?” Dean got up, turning to pull back the covers. He got in, lay down, then asked, “You a righty or a lefty?”

“Um.” Castiel shrugged. “I’ve never shared a bed.”

Dean blew a raspberry. “You a big spoon or a little spoon? ‘Cause if I’m the little spoon I’d rather face the room rather than the window. I’ll have to get up to pee a couple times.”

Castiel was silent for a while, apparently dumbfounded.

Dean sat up. “Dude. C’mon. Chill out. You’re in love with me, it’s fine. Let’s cuddle. I’ll get a boner, you get your exclusive Dean Winchester experience, everyone wins.”

Castiel moved like he was maybe thinking about it.

“Ah, screw it, I’m the little spoon,” Dean decided. “Climb over me, you’re on the left.”

Castiel slowly... _slowly_ did as Dean said. He straddled Dean under the blanket, making Dean blush, then rolled off onto Dean’s left. He wasn’t confident, but he touched Dean’s waist, and moved to press his chest to his back.

“There,” Dean said, wriggling so the curve of his ass fit comfortably against Cas’ crotch. “Hmmmm. ‘S nice.”

Castiel rested close, starting to relax.

Dean slipped a hand to touch Cas’, fingers locked over his rising, falling stomach. “You really love me?” he asked, whispering.

“Yes,” Castiel whispered back.

Dean smiled shakily, astounded. His eyes glazed with tears, and he let his joy flow deep inside him, thrumming, quiet and deep. He took a breath and reached to turn out the lantern by the bed.

“Dean...?”

“Hm?”

“Do you... feel...?”

“What?”

“...The same about me...?”

“You mean, am I in love with you back?”

“Yeah.”

Dean smiled, but said nothing, did nothing. He sighed.

It was too soon. But not for Cas.

For himself.

He gulped. “‘Night, buddy.”

Castiel nosed Dean’s warm shoulder, just once, just softly. “Goodnight, Dean.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Kids disembarked a pair of buses like miniature tourists, decked out with backpacks and floppy hats and brightly-coloured sweaters tied around their waists. Cas took charge of splitting the fifty kids into groups of five, wading forth, a head and shoulders above the crowd. His words barely made it across the clearing, but he stood among the chaos with both hands on a clipboard, blaring unheard words, before he lifted one hand to resettle his baseball cap, up and down.

From that one move, Dean saw Cas was struggling. So Dean hopped off the steps of his cabin and ambled across the dirt, ragged jeans scuffing behind him, denim wrinkling behind his bowed-out knees.

“H’okay, suckers, listen up!” Dean called, clapping twice, at once silencing the chatter. “If you’re wearing a red, orange, yellow, or striped t-shirt, go stand under the sunshade. If you’re wearing blue, or a shirt with a picture on it, you’re over by the cabin. Any other colour – pink, brown, purple, green, black, white – I want you to stay right where you are. Alright, people, move!” He clapped again, and the chatter doubled, the movement and jostling grew violent, but within thirty seconds, the clearing was split into uneven thirds, but the groups were more manageable.

“There,” Dean said, patting Cas on the back. “Easy.”

Castiel breathed out, hand on his chest. “There’s always so many of them, and they’re so loud. Every year I think I’m fine but then...? I wish I weren’t so overwhelmed.”

“Hey.” Dean squeezed Castiel’s bicep assuringly. “You got this. You and Charlie take the blues, get ‘em in groups of five. Sammy!” Dean waved bodily, then pointed with force towards the red-orange-yellow group. Sam was already jogging over with Eileen behind him. “Me, I’ll take this crazy little rainbow here.” He grinned at the doe-eyed kids looking up at him, hoping he was nice. Dean did a head count, one finger bouncing in mid-air as he mouthed numbers. “Aw, look at that, ten of you. Wasn’t that a piece of cake? Split yourselves five-and-five, and you’ll be in a cabin together.”

He grinned as they buzzed around each other, figuring each other out and pairing up.

Dean took his hat and flipped it backwards, feeling accomplished. “Alright. Who’s gonna be Team Cake, and who’s Team Pie? Choose your leaders.”

He let them battle it out, and once decided, Dean gave a tiny black girl with pigtails a comical wink. “Team Pie.” A freckled beanstalk of a boy had been voted leader of the other team, probably because he was obviously the oldest. “Team Cake. Awesome. Both teams, you’re with me. Let’s get you settled and we’ll head down to the kayaks, paddle around a bit. And after that—? Mm-hm! _Lunch_.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

With Teams Cake and Pie in tow, Dean marched down to the lake in his artfully-paint-splattered jeans (now rolled up at the ankles and drenched in bug repellent), and he wore his toughest boots, and his plaidest plaid shirt tied around his waist.

He gave firm instructions to the ten kids gathered by the lakeside. He told them about their lifejackets, but didn’t wear one himself, because he’d look ridiculous. It’s not as if he’d be swimming, anyway. Not in water that green.

The kids only got into the water after half an hour of instructions and land-based paddle practice, which Dean thought was pretty adult of him. A younger version of him would’ve gone, “Here’s your jacket, here’s your paddle, don’t drown each other; now go forth, young padawans—”

Except he probably wouldn’t have said ‘padawans’ because then he’d sound like a geek. He was definitely a geek now. But he still didn’t say ‘padawans’.

The kayaks looked kinda fun. However, Dean wasn’t here to have fun. He was here to make sure nobody drowned. So he watched, eagle-eyed and envious, and had no fun at all.

Content that the echoing hoots of the kids meant at least _they’d_ had a good time, Dean ushered the crowd back up the forest path at one o’clock.

The canteen at Camp Sawtooth was a hall in a big cabin, with hard-packed, sandy floors and long wooden banquet tables extending the length of the room. The lights were dim and yellow after night fell, but now, in the daytime, searing white sunbeams came pouring through a moss-mottled glass roof, giving energy to all the gabbling kids, and the adults who sat among them.

Once his two teams had gone ahead, Dean stopped at the entrance to the canteen, wondering if it was worth going in. He knew the kind of gross nutritious crap Sam brewed up when he was cooking for a crowd – Dean taught him most of those recipes. Hell, he’d made _up_ most of those recipes. They were cost-effective, keep-this-child-alive-or-so-help-me-God recipes.

“Dean,” Castiel said, emerging from the bustling tables, eyes touching the sunlight and sparking blue. “Eat with me. Quick, before the macaroni salad’s all gone. I saw bacon.”

“Uh. Look, tell ya what, I’m actually good,” Dean said. “There’s leftovers up at our cabin, I might just – y’know, head up there. Heat up a pan.”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “This is a community meal, you can’t eat alone.”

Dean shrugged. “You could come with?”

Castiel began to frown. “Why... What’s wrong with here...?”

Dean didn’t care to answer questions, so flared up his hands in surrender, entering the canteen at last. It was uncomfortably humid and smelled like cabbage and pepper.

Sulking but trying to look normal, Dean piled up a plate at the buffet line, his shoulder pressed to Castiel’s even though there was ample room to spread out. They were among the last to get food, but even the smeared little leftovers at the bottoms of the metal pans admittedly seemed appetising enough to Dean, who was of the opinion that once cheese was added, anything tasted good.

Castiel looked so disappointed with his own lunch that once they sat down, Dean took his plate, gave Cas his own, then grated up more of his precious cheese.

“Do you usually carry around a block of cheddar and a cheese grater?” Castiel asked.

“What, don’t you?” Dean smiled. “Here.” He pulled a mini salt grinder and a vial of hot sauce out of his Camp Sawtooth-branded fanny pack.

Castiel stared at Dean for a while. Dean chewed, gazing back with a grin.

Castiel then took the salt and the hot sauce, happy.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Across the room, Rowena sat with one leg casually crossing the other, her pipe-leg pants perfectly pressed, her feet strapped with dusty wedge heels. She ate finely, passing mouthfuls of bread and fruit from one manicured hand to the other, raising each slowly between her lipsticked lips. She watched Dean carefully, as before now, she’d only ever heard stories, and wanted to see for herself who Dean really was. He matched Sam’s description. But Sam never once mentioned how his elder brother went around plastered to Castiel’s side.

A soft brown shadow crept up onto Rowena’s leg, and asked, “Room for one more?”

Rowena didn’t look up at Eileen, but nodded.

Eileen sat opposite, so she could read Rowena’s lips when she spoke.

“What’s so interesting over there?” Eileen asked, looking where Rowena stared.

“Pssh!” Rowena waved a hand. “Don’t look. I’d like to remain covert, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Covert?” Eileen smiled. She looked back at Castiel, then Dean. “Hm,” she chuckled, shaking her head at Rowena. “They wouldn’t notice if you drove a monster truck through the other end of the room.”

Rowena turned her gaze to the other woman. “Do they spend a lot of time together?”

“Not really,” Eileen shrugged. “But when they do they’re inseparable.”

A swish of red breezed past Rowena, then turned around and came back. “Honestly,” Charlie said sharply. “A whole room of awesome kids and you ladies are grouping together like birds of a feather.” With a disdainful huff, she sat down opposite Eileen, fork already speared into her half-eaten pasta. “I need to talk to you about the theatre performance, Eileen. I ran through the script again, and – hah – the crazy thing is, I think we cut it down too much. We aimed for coherence and brevity, but...”

Eileen tutted. “How long does it take to perform?”

“Just over six minutes.”

“Ahh, it’s fine,” Eileen said, spearing a small carrot on her fork, accidentally splitting it. “We need time for chaos.”

“Wise,” Rowena smiled. “Very wise, my dear. I always leave space for a wee bit of discord.”

“Sure. But I was thinking,” Charlie went on, “Sam said eight of the kids wanted to perform. So they’ve got the rest of the hour covered, with a chaos budget included in that. Potentially we’d only need to find someone to fill up another five minutes at the end. One act, maybe. Cas said he might have something up his sleeve. Knowing him, we could go out strong.”

Eileen looked from Charlie’s lips over to the other side of the cafeteria, watching Dean babble at Cas, grinning, then suddenly reaching to cup his chin with his thumb and curled fingers, stroking his stubble.

Whatever Eileen had been about to say, it vanished from her mind, and Rowena saw her overtaken with the same curiosity that had simmered in Rowena’s brain for her entire meal.

Dean’s hand snatched away from Cas as quickly as it had arrived, and Dean quickly looked around, embarrassed, wondering if anyone had seen. The women averted their eyes and looked innocent before Dean could notice them.

“Are they a couple?” Eileen asked. “Castiel and Sam’s brother.”

She looked back at Rowena, then Charlie, as she’d miss their replies unless she watched them speak.

Rowena and Charlie shared an uncertain glance.

“Sam would have told me,” Rowena said. “Surely.”

“They’re being pretty open,” Charlie mused. “At least...” She lifted her head to look more carefully. “They’re definitely playful. And kind of touchy-feely, right?”

The moment Eileen and Rowena looked over again, Dean practically keeled over laughing, toppling back on the bench he sat on. He got to his feet, hand on his stomach, reaching to push Cas by the shoulder as Cas joined him. Castiel gathered their plates, head down, smiling bashfully. Dean’s eyes skipped to the rest of the room. Fifty kids with high, recently-broken voices were unused to hearing the boom of Dean’s laugh, so it drew some attention. Once he’d checked that everyone’s interest was lost, however, Dean shucked up to Castiel’s side again and threw an arm over his shoulders. He hugged Cas close, and placed a big kiss on his blushing cheek.

“Yeah,” Eileen said. “They’re a couple.”

“Nonono,” Charlie said. “They’re just not big on the toxic masculinity thing, come on. Boys can and _should_ be affectionate, it doesn’t make them gay.”

Rowena opened her mouth to make a snide disagreement with that, but Charlie glared at her, adding with some force, “And I say that. As a gay woman. With a gaydar. So cram it, Rowena.”

“Did I say anything?” Rowena chided, hands up, looking innocent.

Charlie settled down, taking one more look at Dean and Cas as they headed for the canteen’s open-door exit. Dean walked backwards, leading Cas. It was hard to see the look in their eyes from all the way over here, but their intimacy was shown in the softness of Dean’s smile, the slow slope of his shoulders, the easy trust he had that Cas wouldn’t let him bump into a wall. It was in Castiel’s attention, listening to every word Dean spoke, following him, steadfast.

They reached the exit, paused to meet in the doorway, and then they were gone, lost in each other’s eyes.

“All that said,” Charlie muttered, “those two are pinging my gaydar _hard_.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Dean stared at the form he was meant to fill in. He sat with his back to the headboard, hairy legs bent, bare feet wrinkling the bedsheets. Castiel came past out of the shower, dropping his towel before he pulled on fresh underwear. Dean scratched his burning forehead with the end of his pen, trying not to look but having his eyes drawn to Castiel’s ass anyway.

He wet his lips, averting his eyes. “What does this even mean,” he uttered, as Castiel flailed his arms pulling on a tatty old t-shirt. “ _List your interests_.”

“I assume,” Castiel said, eyebrows up, forehead wrinkled, “you’re meant to write down a list of things that pique some form of intrigue within you.”

“So. Like. Peach fuzz on a guy’s ass, fresh outta the shower.”

Castiel looked behind himself, then sharply at Dean.

Dean shrugged, lips parted in a grin.

Castiel’s eyes flashed to the roof beams. “Put down ‘food’, put down ‘video games’, I don’t know.”

Dean grumbled as he scrawled down a few broad-termed interests, pointedly missing out ‘vibrating toys’ and ‘porn’.

“I don’t know why Sam needs this, anyway,” Dean complained. “He asks stuff about which camp activities I’m most excited by. How does it matter? Everything’s planned already. And okay, I scored a handful of activities I like. I’m teaching a self-defence class and shelter-building, among a few others. I’m doing a cooking class daily so it’s all small groups. But—? I’m not a teacher, Cas. Yeah, I got some experience points here and there. But I swear to God, man, I’d kinda rather be...”

Castiel sat down at the foot of the bed. “Rather be what?”

“I dunno. Part of the camp. As a kid. I never—” Dean grinned, rolling a shoulder as he looked away. “Didn’t really get this experience growing up.”

“You can still enjoy it as an adult.”

“It’s not the same,” Dean murmured into his lap. “I’m tellin’ kids what to do, I’m not doin’ it. I’m watching them climb rope ladders, I’m not climbing. I’m making sure they’re baking cookies right, but me, I got no cookies by the end of it.”

Castiel eyed him sympathetically. “In my art class I give a demonstration and then supervise everyone else’s artwork after. I end up with a new painting each time.”

Dean pulled a face. He was disappointed, that was all. “Anyway,” he sighed. He waved the form Sam had given him. “Sam’s gonna be mad if I half-ass this. But it’s meant to be fun. And right now, I’m not having fun.” Dean gritted his teeth and set the form aside completely. “Dammit. I’m gonna sleep, I’m too grumpy to write out _five things I hope to improve on at camp_.”

Castiel got up and came close, climbing over Dean to get into bed. “Tell _me_ , then, don’t write,” Castiel suggested. “What do you want to improve on? What do you want to _get_ from this experience?”

Dean snorted, flumping down angrily. He wrapped his arms around Cas and squeezed tight, making Cas laugh. Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“Wanna be a kid again,” Dean mumbled, rolling to press against Castiel’s back. He sighed, headbutting the back of Castiel’s neck. “It’s stupid. I friggin— I missed everything. I like different stuff now. I like—” he pushed his hips against Castiel’s squishy ass, “grown-up stuff. But?” He nuzzled, and sighed, and slipped one hairy thigh between Castiel’s. “I’d give this up, Cas. I would. Just to be allowed to have fun.”

Castiel rolled over, looking at Dean in concern. “Nobody said you can’t have fun.”

Dean glanced desperately to Castiel’s flat, dry lips, craving a kiss. He lapped at his own lips and looked up, up to the beams above them. Cobwebs drifted in the lantern light up there. “I can’t.” He rolled over with a few thumps in the bed, sulking with his back to Cas. “I just can’t, Cas. It’s not the same. I gotta be an adult. Like it or not, I grew up. I grew body hair, my voice broke, I got tall, I got jacked. I started having sex. I got a proper adult job, then six more. I bought a diner. I bought three diners. I run a growing diner chain. I grew _up_. And I grew into a guy who Sam thinks is the right guy for running a goddamn kiddie camp with him. I _gotta_ be that guy. Otherwise... who am I, you know?”

Castiel embraced him softly, one hand taking Dean’s. He put a kiss on Dean’s shoulder, making Dean shudder.

“Sorry,” Castiel said, smiling. “I just thought you needed it.”

“I d— I did,” Dean smiled. “It’s fine.” Two beats of silence. “Thanks.”

Castiel kissed Dean’s bare shoulder again, breathing out warm against him. He reached over Dean’s head and turned out the lantern.

They relaxed together, warm and close.

Dean’s dick started to get chubby, but he lay still until it faded. He sighed, forlorn.

Castiel stroked Dean’s leg with his toes. “You okay?”

Dean snuffled a laugh. “You’re tickling me.”

“Is it helping?

Dean turned his head so his nose was aligned with Cas’. “Kinda.”

Castiel dragged his knee up between Dean’s thighs, their leg hair creating what felt like static between them. Dean giggled, rolling away. Castiel rolled with him, chuckling, kissing his back.

Dean’s heart lurched pleasantly, and he hugged Cas around himself, becoming the little spoon again. He took and held Cas’ hand against his own stomach.

“You still love me?” Dean asked, playfully.

“Of course.”

Dean let out a sigh of contentment. “‘Kay. Awesome.”

“It’s not stopping, Dean.”

Dean smiled, wishing he could kiss him without complicating the lives of everyone around them. Especially his own. “Good.”

“And—”

Castiel hesitated.

“What,” Dean urged, almost in a whisper.

“And,” Castiel gulped, “even if you never feel it back, Dean, I’ll still love you.”

Dean sank closer into his best friend’s strong, gentle arms. Guilt and despair darkened his insides, and even as he tried to speak – truly tried, voice crackling – he found he couldn’t say anything. Too tired. Too unprepared. Too unwilling to hear his own voice say something vulnerable.

So, to save himself from a bad night in that moment, he booted out his guilt using a well-practised mental kick, instead accepting the love he was given. Soon Castiel’s warmth and light overtook the darkness in Dean... and he was blissfully grateful.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Early Tuesday evening, as the afternoon’s activities and then dinner came to a close, Charlie had the fifty kids split into three groups. She and Eileen took seventeen of them out for a stroll in the woods, to go through their nature worksheets. Seventeen went to Rowena, who decided to teach them how to meditate.

Castiel had the other sixteen, with Sam as his partner.

Dean had been told to join Rowena, but he pouted, and looked so beside himself with longing for Castiel that Sam threw up his hands and jogged off after the other group, leaving Dean with a sheepish grin and a very confused Castiel.

“This wasn’t the plan,” Castiel said, leaning close to Dean and looking worried, back turned to the children. “I was relying on Sam to know what to do. I don’t know what to do, now.”

“Relax, man, we’ll make something up,” Dean said happily, palming the side of Cas’ neck. He looked at the kids before them, who were full of energy after dinner and blaring with excitement for the next activity, regardless of what it was.

“What are y’all up for?” Dean asked, hands on his hips. “We got the canteen to ourselves...” He licked his lips. “Hey, let’s shove all the tables to the sides so we got some room to work with, how ‘bout that.” He picked out kids. “You in the overalls, and you – yeah, you in the hat, aaaand... you with the glasses, you’re in charge. Up-up! Let’s, uh. Let’s get these tables moving.”

Castiel stood uselessly by Dean’s side, quietly worried.

Dean snorted. “Dude. By the look of you, you could’ve done with Rowena’s meditation session.”

“Likely,” Castiel agreed. “What now?” he asked, watching the dusty floor get scraped with table feet, every table making horrible noises as it was moved. “There’s a tape deck here, and a-a-a-a bedsheet—?”

Dean clicked his fingers. “Parachute! Kids love that shit.”

“And a packet of balloons,” Castiel said, with some relief. “Okay, everybody!” he called, confident now. “Take an edge of this sheet, and let’s pull it out, all the way across the room. If we all hold tight, we’ll put a balloon in the middle and roll it around.”

Glasses kid and the leader of Team Pie came and took the sheet edges first, spreading out – only to realise the sheet was not a sheet, but a banner reading ‘ _Welcome to Camp Sawtooth_ ’. It was long and thin but no good for parachute games. The kids laughed.

“Aw,” Dean sulked.

“Maybe a tennis net?” Castiel suggested.

Dean gasped. “Balloon tennis!”

The kids who heard him were instantly enthused, and began nattering to find teams and lay down rules. Dean grinned as they sorted themselves out, and then grinned more as he watched Castiel concentrating incredibly hard to blow up an orange balloon. He was red-cheeked and sore-lipped when he was done, and he fiddled so much trying to tie a knot that Dean pinched the balloon away from him and tied it for him. He felt Cas’ cold saliva on his fingers, rubbing it away as he let the balloon float over to the kids.

There was no time to do a countdown or kickoff, as the game had begun already. Dean crossed the canteen’s open space with one end of the banner in hand, and Castiel held the other, and they became the net. A few children ducked underneath, having found themselves on the wrong side.

Dean liked watching sports. Football was fine, but he preferred wrestling, as he liked being able to see the guys’ faces... and thighs. Baseball was kinda slow to him. Basketball was pretty good. Tennis, though? He could dig women’s tennis, maybe. Balloon tennis was more like waterpolo, or volleyball. Kids’ balloon tennis, however, was hyperactive and kind of random. And after six minutes trying to keep score and realising that was impossible, Dean zoned out and started to yawn.

He was blasted back to consciousness by the jumpy, upbeat bassline of ABBA’s _Waterloo_ , and the uncommonly mal-tuned addition of Castiel’s singalong.

Cas... could not sing. He sounded pleasant, sure, but that was because a deep voice was always nice, in Dean’s opinion. Cas was pitchy and squeaky in places and he danced with toddler-esque bops, bouncing out of sync with the music. Dean was almost embarrassed for him, were it not for the fact his attraction to Cas just made him look adorable. And kind of hot, because he was unapologetically bad, and that oblivious confidence looked good on anyone.

Dean beamed at Cas for maybe six, seven minutes, all the way through _Dancing Queen_ and _Super Trouper_. He gave the banner a few tugs to communicate with him, and Castiel tugged back, apparently in Morse code. Three words. A short one, a four-letter one, and a three-letter one. Dean had read Sam’s email about Morse code but he hadn’t committed the entire alphabet to heart, dammit.

He gave Cas a head-shake and a ‘what?’ kind of expression.

Castiel tilted his head in a shrug, giving an open-mouthed grin. Then he ducked his head in a blush, ears visibly reddened. He didn’t answer.

Dean wondered if Cas had Morse-coded him ‘I love you’ via tugs on a camp banner across a canteen of rowdy kids playing balloon tennis.

It just seemed like the kind of thing he’d do.

Dean blushed right back.

God, he felt bad. He wanted to say it. He knew Cas was aware of the well-requited friend-love between them, but he hated that Cas assumed his romantic feelings weren’t returned. But all Dean could do was awkwardly cling to the banner and avoid Cas’ eyes, heart racing.

ABBA’s _Name of the Game_ ended, and Dean could tell the kids were running out of steam. Their punches to the balloon were lethargic, and it barely even ricocheted off the glass roof any more, but hovered up there for a while before sinking back down to the other side of the banner.

Dean looked up, licking his lips. He caught Cas’ gaze at last, and mouthed, “Are we done?”

Castiel squinted.

Dean cocked his head towards the kids. Castiel started in realisation, then let out a breath, apparently in relief. He grinned, and nodded, then called, “Alright, children, one more round and then we’ll take a break. First team to— Thank you, Kara— First team to score wins.”

The energy was back. That final round came and went in a chaotic, shrieking rush, and Dean was almost surprised when one team screamed in victory, starting a chant of “We win, we win, we win—”

Dean paced across the room to Castiel, grinning, as Cas came up to him too. They met in the middle of the thrum of things, soft-eyed.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied, taking the folded banner from him. He looked at Dean’s lips, then down, folding the banner tighter.

“I, uh,” Dean said, throat crushing itself as he tried to say what he wanted to say. “I kinda—” He sucked in a breath, looking away. “ _Great_ game guys. You did awesome.”

His smile was genuine, but a slight on what it should’ve been. He tried to catch Castiel’s eyes, but Castiel shook his head, gave a forgiving smirk and turned away, going to turn off the tape deck.

The tape deck tumbled from its table edge and hit the ground with a buzz and a crunch. Castiel’s hands flew to his hair, head down. Dean rushed from the kids and went to Castiel, saying, simply, “Dude.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy—”

Dean scoffed. “Cool it, man, we can fix it before the karaoke contest.” He bent to pick up the machine, placing it piece by piece back on the table. “I’m good with this stuff.” He squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “Not as bad as the time you knocked over an entire greeting card aisle. Remember that?”

“Oh, don’t remind me.”

Dean cackled. “I thought it was hilarious. Or the time you exploded a whole carton of eggs at the store checkout? Or the— Hahah, the time—”

“Dean—”

“Hey hey hey, I say it out of love, Cas,” Dean laughed. “Just making a point. Don’t feel bad, alright? You’re a hopeless, clumsy dork.” He rolled a shoulder, shooting Cas a sweet smile. “It’s cute.”

“Cute.”

Dean shrugged again. “Chicks could dig it.”

Castiel snorted. “Right.”

“Or dudes. You know. Whoever you’re into.”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes coolly. They held tight, both knowing precisely who he was into. Dean slowly swallowed, then turned to the tape deck. “I. Uh. Okay.” He patted the contraption. “I’ll work on this later.”

“Later?”

“We gotta move all these tables back, first. OKAY! Listen up, y’all. I want this place to look like we never moved anything. First team to get their table and floor back to how it was gets candy outta my own personal stash. Ready, set... GO.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

When Sam returned to the canteen, he found the kids engaged in their own discussions at the canteen tables. Their attention was largely focused on Dean and Castiel, but Castiel didn’t seem to be paying much attention in return. Dean, though...?

Dean lay on a dining table, stretched out on his back like a cat, reaching up to play with Castiel’s hair.

Castiel smiled down at him, head supported by one hand on his cheek. He gazed at Dean with unquestionable adoration, apparently pleased by Dean’s touches. Dean spoke softly to him, eyes moving, head tilting in a shrug: Sam knew he was talking about trivial, silly things.

Sam approached them cautiously, unsure if he was meant to interrupt. Castiel stroked a finger down Dean’s nose, and Dean grinned, blowing it away.

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean’s eyes shot to him – he gasped, flinched, sat up— Castiel looked upset at the loss, while Dean was immediately stoic, firm-jawed, almost... angry. But not with Sam. He clenched his jaw until his cheeks flickered, and he hopped off the table, storming away to hide his face.

Castiel’s eyes followed him, hurt.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked. “Are you two a couple?”

“What?” Castiel laughed. “No. Not at all. Dean sat opposite me. Then he... sat on the table. Then he relaxed, and got sleepy, and...” He shrugged. “I don’t know, it just happened.” He started to smile, lost in however it had felt.

Sam drew a breath. “Okay. Well. While you two are goofing off, there’s more kids outside with Rowena, and Charlie and Eileen should be on their way back. So we oughta start the bedtime routine. You take boys’ bathroom duty, I’ll—”

Sam had made the mistake of turning to look at Dean. There he was, leaving the canteen in his careless bowlegged stride, hand over his mouth, going out to rest his hands on the porch barrier. He took a few deep breaths, apparently enjoying the sunset. Had he forgotten there were sixteen kids he was meant to be watching?

Palming his forehead, Sam turned back to Cas. “Whatever. I’ll find something useful to do. If you get Dean’s attention, tell him—” Frustration darkened Sam’s expression, and he felt a switch flip inside him. “Forget it. It’s not like he’d stick to the plan anyway. Can’t even fill out a form right.”

Sam left Castiel without another word.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Thursday arrived.

Camp Sawtooth had a permanent outdoor stage, which did have a roof, but the arches at the side were open, meaning the wings of the stage were the steps leading to worn-down grass. The staff and a few kids milled around in the heat, muttering to themselves as they practised last-minute for their performances. Right now there was a girl on stage with a guitar, who’d gone up after Eileen and Charlie’s American Sign Language performance of _It’s a Small World After All_.

Dean loitered near the costume box, pulling out frilly shirts and clown shoes, amused by everything he found. Nearby, Castiel paced, wearing a black top hat and a cape, rhythmically batting his white-tipped magician's wand against his palm.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” Sam said, striding up to Dean. “Are you gonna help out? Or are you gonna stay here, getting in everyone’s way?”

“I’m not in anyone’s way,” Dean argued, looking around.

Sam sighed, head down. “God. _God_. I don’t know why I even asked you to come out here, Dean.”

“Hey, I’m helping!” Dean called after Sam as he stalked off, only to be shushed by three women and a twelve-year-old. Sulking, Dean got back to pulling things out of the costume box. He grinned, having found a tiny pair of fairy wings, rainbow-coloured, made of the same material as stockings. “Hey, Cas, look,” he said, untangling the elastic, but discovering it was broken. He held the wings with a hand crooked behind his back, turning this way and that. “How do I look?”

“Fine,” Castiel uttered, not looking, still pacing. He had playing cards in his hand, splaying them, then shaking his head and pocketing them.

A cheer went up from the kids on the lawn, as the guitar girl left, and a gaggle of kids went up on stage. Dean peered through the archway at the stage, with its outdoor rug and microphone stand... and he thought, hey, it looked like fun out there. But then he saw the fifty kids clamouring at the awkwardness of the current performance, and he changed his mind. He returned to the box, tossing the wings in.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed. “I’m up next.”

“Sweet. You’ll be awesome, man.”

“Won’t you be my assistant?” Castiel asked.

“Who, me? Uh. No. No thanks.”

“Oh.”

“You have your fun, though. Seriously. Nerd out.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

“I can’t believe,” Sam uttered, plopping into a folding deck chair beside Rowena, glaring at the stage, “Dean is forty years old and is somehow _more_ of a killjoy now then when he was fourteen and grew out of wanting to play make-believe. He came to the camp after I’ve been asking for six years straight, and he only agreed because I overloaded Charlie’s schedule and we needed emergency backup.”

“But at least he came,” Rowena said, staying quiet so as not to disturb the kids choralling on stage.

“Huh!” Sam shook his head. “I have a laundry list of things Dean was meant to join in with once he got here. I mean, fine, he’s done everything he _had_ to do. So he’s not a fan of camping; the cabin’s fine. But he might as well not _be_ here. Rarely eats with the rest of us, and when he does, half his plate is stuff he brought from home. Hasn’t learned a single kid’s name. I haven’t even _seen_ him except for when I hunt him down, and then he’s goofing off with Cas. All the time. There’s fifty kids, a dozen adults, and a dozen-and-a-half fun outdoor activities he could be familiarising himself with, but he’s sticking to what he knows, _who_ he knows. It’s like he brought the city with him. Why can’t he just _embrace_ it, you know? Embrace that he’s gonna get muddy and bitten by something. Embrace looking silly in front of the kids. Camp Sawtooth was never a place you’re meant to be perfect, be clean, be handsome, it’s a place you’re meant to _be_. I don’t know why he doesn’t get that.”

Rowena looked slyly towards the side of the stage, where Castiel was fanning himself with his top hat, and Dean was trying on a blue furry vest over his t-shirt.

“Maybe we’ve been teaching him the wrong way,” Rowena said.

“Teaching!” Sam rolled his eyes. He looked down at Bones, who panted happily at his feet, belly in the cool grass. “What was that saying? Old dog, new tricks? Pff. Dean’s past saving. Even _he’d_ say so. If he wanted to change, he would. I’m just gonna let him do this thing. Maybe I’m the problem. I should accept he’s never going to enjoy leading a community the same way I do.”

“Oh, Sam,” Rowena patted Sam’s hand. “You’re not the problem.” She narrowed his eyes at Dean. “You’re really not.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Castiel walked on stage to a round of applause, which loudened and became more enthusiastic as they crowd realised Cas was going to perform magic tricks.

“I’m, um. Hello. I’m Castiel, you— You all know me from painting, but maybe also glass-blowing, or baton class, or fencing—”

In the wings, Dean scoffed. “Knows how to handle a stick, amirite?” he uttered, elbowing Eileen, who looked at him curiously. Dean realised she hadn’t heard him, so he blushed and muttered, “Nevermind.”

Castiel rambled on, hesitant but forcing confidence: “For my first trick, I’m going to make – this hat! _vanish_ from my hand. A drumroll, if you please...”

The kids thumped the ground with their sneakers and sandals.

Dean eyed Cas, watching as he swished his cloak, dropped the hat, and it bounced ten feet across the stage. The kids broke into uproarious laughter, and even Dean grinned, clutching his forehead in embarrassment.

“Ta-daaaa,” Castiel said, taking a bow.

Dean gave a few claps of his hands, rolling his eyes. At least Cas had enough charisma to make up for a screw-up like that. The kids were in hysterics.

“And now, my lovely assist—aaah.” Castiel cleared his throat, shooting a glance to Dean. Dean gritted his teeth and shook his head. Castiel huffed. “I will make a rabbit appear from— Oh, damn—” He ran across the stage to grab the hat. “This same hat!”

Dean couldn’t believe this guy was ever allowed on stage.

Dean bowed his head, picking out an emerald-green pair of Aladdin pants with purple trim around the waist and ankles. “Holy sweet mother of swear words,” Dean rumbled, looking at the pants as he held them up. “I have never seen anything as godawful as this in my entire life.”

“Oh, really?” Rowena’s Scottish brogue crept up behind Dean, and his hair stood on end. He turned to face her, ugly pants held up between them like a barrier. Rowena only grinned. “Care to try them on, my dear?”

“What?”

Rowena smiled, cat-like, and turned her gaze to Castiel.

Dean looked too, seeing Cas fumble with his hat, patting around inside it, dipping his entire arm in when no rabbit came out. Dean was quietly impressed by that, wondering where his arm went, but snorted and looked back at Rowena. “I’m not going out there, if that’s what you’re implying. I don’t do stage shows.”

“Aye,” Rowena said knowingly. “And you don’t like making your loved ones happy, either.”

“What? Hey, now wait a second—”

Rowena spoke over him, in maximum Scottish, “Until ye doo what yae’re _sapposed_ ta do, child, watch those inner fantasies of yeurs spread wild. Now, fulfill the task you’ve been seht, for ye willnae be yeurself until yeur secret goal has been met.”

Dean frowned. “The hell? You talk in rhyme now? Just a heads up, lady, it’s kind of freaky.”

“Oh?” Rowena said sneakily, turning away, gleaming eyes and endless curls of red hair turned over her sharp shoulder. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She floated away to sit by Sam in the audience, looking smugly over at Dean.

“And now!” Castiel announced, “my biggest trick yet...”

Dean looked down, watching in surprise as a brown-and-white rabbit bounced down the steps and past his boots, heading for the grass.

“My assistant—” Castiel said again, looking imploringly towards the wings.

Dean pouted.

“—Is very much _needed_ for this trick,” Castiel said, firmly. “Because my rabbit appears to have quit, in very uncertain terms. And it might take a while to locate another one.”

Dean looked around for the rabbit, but when it was nowhere to be seen, he realised with a sigh that _he_ was the new rabbit.

Welp.

Cas needed Dean’s help. And Rowena was wrong – he _did_ help his friends. He did, dammit.

So Dean grabbed the first bits of costume he saw – blue feathery vest, awful green Aladdin pants, fairy wings – and donned them in a rush over his own clothes, then went up on stage resentfully, tying the rainbow wings on him as he went. He hoped the costume would make him unrecognisable – or at least make it clear this Wasn’t Him, because Dean Winchester didn’t do crap like this. However, he wanted to help Cas. So he took a deep breath, released it, and let go of his tension as he did.

Rowena was full of shit. Batshit, probably.

Cas uttered some mumbo-jumbo about making Dean disappear. With a dramatised heave of effort and a twirl of a hand, he tossed a white sheet over Dean’s head. As it floated down over him, the world turned pale. Castiel’s voice was all that came through into this muffled world. Dean blinked as the sheet touched his lashes – but when he opened his eyes, the world was empty.

Black.

Quiet.

Warm.

He could smell rabbits.

This was... part of the trick, right?

Right?

Fading back in, the cheers of the young crowd came through and with a whoosh of fabric, Castiel revealed Dean to the audience, many steps away from where he’d been before. The kids and adults cheered, astonished, and Dean looked at Cas in awe. Castiel looked back knowingly, slowly raising a finger to his lips. _Shhh. Don’t tell._

Dean stumbled off stage when it was all over, wondering what the frick just happened. Where had he gone? How had he gone there and come back in a blink? He sure as hell hadn’t been hiding under a bedsheet that whole time.

“Cas—” Dean reached for his friend, needing to ask questions.

But Castiel stilled him, a hand open. “Later.” Eileen had come up to him, requesting his help as the crowds moved. “Later, Dean.”

Dean was left alone in the archway at the side of the stage, sun on his shoulders, rainbow wings fluttering nervously. He reached to take them off, but scratched empty-handed at his shoulder. Where was the broken elastic he’d tied? He turned around, but the wings twirled with him. He went back the other way, and they remained behind him.

He tried to flap them away, but—

It was then that Dean realised something very odd had happened. He grinned, disbelieving. “No,” he said, giving the wings a few flaps. They moved according to his intentions.

“ _No_ ,” he said again, trying to see over his shoulder. There they were. Twice as big as the costume wings he’d put on, and half as colourful. They were brown and mottled green now. Made of sateen and butterfly dust, not dyed nylon.

Wide-eyed, he reached behind himself to touch them. Soft. Delicate. They hurt to tug.

Dean shook his head, looking around in a faint panic. Everyone was gone; the last of the kids were running off down a path. It was dinnertime and there was no reason to stay. Dean let out a few hurried breaths, running to a mirror propped against the brick wall of the stage. He looked at his flustered self, and realised, even before he saw the wings, that he was missing his clothes. His real clothes, that is. The costume, however, was perfectly snug on his body. Feathery blue vest, open over his bare chest. Droopy, puff-ankled Aladdin pants with a thick royal-purple band on the waist and ankles. He’d put them on, wanting to be someone else. And now he looked nothing like himself, at least in terms of fashion choice. His feet were bare.

“Oh my God.” Dean shivered, head vibrating in minute shakes. “What the hell? What the _hell_.” He turned and looked at the wings. They seemed to shimmer in the light. Frowning in awe, Dean rotated his shoulders just a bit more...

“ _No_ ,” Dean uttered, in astonishment this time, a flitter of a smile on the corners of his lips. He caught a peek of the back of his wings. Rainbow. Glorious, shifting rainbow.

He looked around, needing someone to witness this. Was he dreaming? Did he hit his head? Was there something in the water around here that caused hallucinations?

Seeing nobody, he started towards the camp’s canteen. Sammy was never gonna believe this. Cas though? Given what Cas had done on stage, maybe he’d believe it...

Dean stopped. He’d seen Rowena across the grass, her slim figure waiting by a distant tree, hand on the trunk. She watched him.

He watched her back.

With a smile, she disappeared behind the tree.

“ _O_ -kay,” Dean growled, ready for a fight. “Now look here.” He marched across the lawn – only to find nobody behind the tree. “Rowena!”

His voice echoed.

The place was truly deserted. Only a faint clatter and rumble of voices came from the canteen, where steam eased from a chimney on the sloped roof, leaving the evening shadows behind, rising silver into the evening sky. Rowena’s silhouette waited in the doorway. Light spilled from the canteen’s open door, down the steps, and onto the worn-to-dust woodchip path.

“ _Do what you’re supposed to do, child,_ ” the witch whispered on the wind.

Dean was expected inside. People were waiting for him. Maybe joining the feast was what he was supposed to do. It was what _Sam_ would want him to do.

Or...

He took a moment to recalibrate. Here he was at the edge of the woods, fairy wings aflutter, light shining on their fragile edge. He looked back into the sunlight over the wood-slat rooftops, where the blinding orb slowly sank to the horizon, turning the low-hanging dust a pretty pink.

Strange as this all was, it didn’t feel like a dream. In event, and in appearance, yes. But Dean touched the bark of the tree beside him, and it was rough and scratchy. He breathed in, and the perfume of the camp was as dense and brown as always. He touched his hand to his other palm, expecting something strange to happen, but they were just his hands. He clapped, and it made a sound. And then it hurt.

“I’m not dreaming,” he said.

He didn’t believe in magic. He never had.

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t wished it was real.

He turned to the woods with a smile, and a quiet, bare knowing in the pit of his stomach. He was cursed. Rowena had cursed him to be like this, maybe for tonight, maybe forever. Whether or not Sam, Cas, or anyone else would believe what had happened, he believed it. And he believed his friends and family would stop at nothing to fix him, once they realised what happened. He was _supposed_ to let them help.

But he wasn’t ready to go back, yet. Not back to the camp, and not back to his human shape.

He wasn’t ready for a lot of things.

He looked at the camp one more time, nodded to Rowena, then stepped into the forest.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Castiel sometimes thought children were similar to cats. For the most part, they wanted to be left alone, but on occasion, they needed some attention. They could not be trained, only guided. And like cats, they were very cute.

One thing that differentiated children from cats, however, was that children were infinitely easier to herd. But even though that was true, it still required some skill and strategy to get fifty of them from the theatre to the canteen. The bait was dinner, which made things smooth enough.

But when it was all over, fifty kids lined up for their supper. Supervising adults were still needed, but to a lesser degree. So Castiel turned his attention to Dean.

Dean was not here.

Not here? Surely not. Dinner was being served. And Dean knew Castiel was here, not in their cabin, so what was the point of _Dean_ being at the cabin? He might not love Castiel back in a romantic way, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a lover of his company. Dean didn’t like being apart from Castiel if he could help it. His devotion was matched by only one thing: his love of food. Which was why it was so odd he wasn’t here yet.

“Would you excuse me,” Castiel said to Charlie, touching her arm to draw her attention. “I have to go find Dean.”

“He’ll be here in a minute, trust me,” Charlie said. “He wouldn’t miss chili fries.”

Castiel eyed the canteen again, eyes skipping from table to table as kids and adults gradually took their seats, chatting. “Yes,” he agreed. “You’re right.”

He went along the buffet line and filled his plate. He took another look around, but saw no Dean. The chili fries were almost gone – so he snatched up a few more of the chunkiest ones, intending to save them for the man he loved.

He turned to find a seat, and sat with Eileen as she popped a cherry tomato between her back teeth, wincing at the sharp explosion.

“You haven’t seen Dean, have you?” Castiel asked in hesitant, clumsy sign language, again scanning the canteen.

Eileen seemed surprised. She signed back, “I thought you were inseparable.”

“We were separated at the—” Castiel didn’t know the sign for ‘stage’, so spoke it in English; “after the performance.”

Eileen shook her head. “Nope. Haven’t seen a hint of him. Maybe he’s in the men’s room.”

Castiel picked at his food, waiting. He kept an eye out, but he was halfway done with his dinner before he shook his head, truly concerned. “He might be in our cabin. Save this for me,” he told Eileen, pushing his plate towards her. “If you ask the cook there’s aluminum wrap to protect it from flies.”

Watching him get up to leave, Eileen turned her head, then called, “Last I saw, Cas, he left the stage with you.” She grinned when Castiel looked back at her. “You didn’t vanish him into the ether again, did you? That _was_ very impressive.”

Castiel smiled. “No. This time I didn’t.”

He headed for the exit, into the rosy, pastel aura of sunset. Cicadas sizzled in the brush beyond the camp, the leafy silhouettes of the forest breaking the lines of sunlight into sparkling golden ribbons. Castiel stood on the porch of the canteen and looked about, seeing no evidence of Dean’s whereabouts.

Starting for the cabin, he was halted by a soft voice behind him. “He doesn’t know what you are, does he? He doesn’t know how similar you and I are.”

Castiel paused on the bottom step, looking back up at Rowena. She’d come out onto the porch, her elegant figure sunk in shadow. Only her eyes reflected the pink sky with a shine.

“And what are _you_ , exactly?” Castiel tested.

Rowena only smiled. She didn’t answer that question, but another. “He went into the woods. All by his lonesome.”

Castiel drew a breath, eyes shooting towards the open forest, where the trunks of the trees parted into a pathway.

“Take a torch,” Rowena warned. “You wouldn’t want to be out there in the dark. Not when his wee fantasies are running wild like that. I couldn’t say what nightmares he’ll bring to life.”

Castiel studied Rowena, and she studied him back.

Slowly, cautiously, Castiel said, “Thank you.”

“I’ll tell Sam where you’ve gone,” Rowena said, bowing her head, then backing away to the canteen. “Don’t be too long, now.”

Castiel took a moment to gather his wits, then resumed his journey to his and Dean’s cabin. There he could put his yellow pants and tough boots back on, take a flashlight, food, water, medical supplies, a GPS beacon, and a fully-charged phone... anything he’d need for a night in the forest. He didn’t know _why_ Dean had gone, or how, or what state he’d be in once Castiel found him. Even in so few words, Rowena had all but implied there was something supernatural afoot. But Castiel knew one thing: whatever was about to happen next, he would not be unprepared.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

“Dean?”

Calling only once, Castiel strode between the high-reaching trunks of lodgepole pines, following the path. The children had followed these paths for years, and so had other travellers and hunters and trappers and wildlife researchers, and every footstep had left the path barren and flat. Berry shrubs grew every so often among the grasses, blocking up an otherwise clear view. Grouseberries, huckleberries, snowberries, and spirea... Like the other staff, Castiel had filled in the worksheets along with the kids, so he knew which ones were poisonous and which were edible.

Castiel listened to the birdsong, cool and calm and clear, speckled with magpie chaks and the chirps of finches. A distant eagle cried, and as Castiel looked up, he saw it circle across the fuschia sky, then disappear past the tops of the trees.

Whoever had come this way had done nothing to disturb the peace. Castiel shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, reaching past his heartbeat to feel the beat of the Earth below him. It murmured out of sync with his steps; it breathed with the wind; Dean was at peace here. He had left no trace of energy.

And yet...? Castiel still sensed him here. His scent was in the air, his heat was in the trees: Castiel touched them with his fingertips as he passed. A flash of rich brown and green came across his eyes; this was Dean’s echo.

Rowena had been right. Something odd was in the process of happening. Something magical. Inhuman. Usually Dean left static wherever he went, like there was forever a radio in the next room playing 1980s rock. But this...? This was Dean removed from himself. This was Dean with the radio off. He broadcast almost nothing.

“Dean?” Castiel called into the wilderness, waiting for a reply.

Only an echo. _D e a n..._

An elk startled and leapt away, splashing through a brook. It headed left, then startled again, dramatically changing direction, instead leaping and bounding away to the right. Its heavy hoofbeats faded between the trees, muffled by the grasses that grew soft and unruly between the tree trunks.

Castiel looked behind him, still able to see the way out of the forest, although the exit was distant. He was maybe a quarter-mile from the camp by now. A glorious pink haze had descended as the sun came to the edge of the world, and the colour was striped by tree trunks. The forest creaked as old wood and new leaves went a-swishing in a warm breeze.

“Dean,” Castiel said, turning back to the deep forest, eyes set on the place the elk had changed direction. “I know you’re there.”

Sizzling; the forest hissed with insects, the birds sang as the day ended. And yet it registered as silence. A neutral, undisturbed emptiness. Dean was holding his breath.

“Dean.”

Castiel left the path against his better judgement, marching over grasses and tree roots wherever they tangled over the ground. With his satchel of supplies banded safely over his chest, he aimed his flashlight towards the darkest, shadiest crook of the widest, oldest tree around.

He stood by the trunk, bowing his head. “You don’t need to be afraid, Dean. Not of me.”

Dean let out a breath on the other side. “It’s not you I’m afraid of.”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

  
 

Dean kept his back pressed to the trunk. He wanted to hide. He wanted to shield his current form, perhaps not from the world, as the wildlife around him only had careless eyes, but perhaps just from himself. He wanted to look at his reflection, at his wings, his beautiful rainbow wings – but couldn’t help but fear them. So he hid them. Held them flat to the tree so they wouldn’t flutter and flash.

“I didn’t want to be found, Cas,” Dean said, sorry eyes rising to look at the dimming sky.

Castiel chuckled, and somehow the noise was comforting. “You should have tried harder, then. You not showing up for dinner when there were chili fries... Well, I’d say that was a fairly obvious signal that something was wrong.”

“ _Wrong_?” Dean uttered, almost smiling. “Please. I’m fine. This is how I am, now. I’m gonna live in the woods and eat berries and make houses out of sticks.”

“Forever?” Castiel didn’t even sound surprised. “Surely you’d come back for a sandwich now and then.”

Dean smirked. He curled his fingertips, taking solace from the tree bark under his nails; he was part of this place, and was always supposed to be. “Doubt it. Not looking like this.”

Castiel went quiet at that.

Dean gulped.

“What happened, Dean?” Castiel said from the other side of the tree. “May I see you?”

“You’ll freak out,” Dean said. “Anyone would. Sam would.”

Castiel went quiet again. Dean heard him sigh, and saw the flashlight move across the tufted grass, then vanish with an audible click. The forest turned dark pink without it, as the daylight was burning out, fast. Vertical lines of gold still touched the tree trunks, fading, slimming away to nothing. Within seconds it was brown all around, and the light from above gave the world a faintly purple hue.

“Do you remember what I did on stage?” Castiel asked quietly, his low voice giving a bass to the treble of the woodland song. “I made you disappear and reappear. For real.”

Dean turned his head, wanting to look at Cas, but Cas was still on the other side of the tree, letting Dean hide. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t freak out.” Castiel said it proudly.

“Didn’t get long to think about it,” Dean admitted. “Suddenly I had a bigger thing to freak out about.”

“Tell me.”

Dean scoffed. He fluttered his wings gently, wincing as they touched the bark.

“Tell me, Dean,” Castiel said again.

Dean licked his lips. There was more to explain than Castiel realised. Dean had to start at the beginning. “I, uh,” he murmured. “I used to fantasise a lot when I was a kid. You know? Tough life. Shitty situation, shittier caregiver. Sam had an imaginary friend to keep him company. Sully would... talk to him. Keep telling him everything would be okay, kept him sane while everything fell apart and Sam was left alone. Me, though. Me.” Dean drew a musty, earth-rich breath. “Me. I imagined a version of reality where everything was different. Not just me packing up my bag and taking off, that was too normal, and I couldn’t do that to Sammy. I mean. I— I was visited by a fairy godmother. Y’know. Like in the movies. And she’d make me into a fairy princess.”

Castiel no doubt tilted his head, processing.

“And.” Dean gulped. “I wanted it so badly, Cas. Because that way— That way. I could magic everything okay again.” Dean’s voice broke on the words, strained with emotion. His throat started to hurt. “I would— I’d go up to Sam and, whoosh, a little of my fairy magic, and he’s happy. Whoosh, the motel room is beautiful and clean and the fridge is full of food. Everyone at school’s nice to us. Dad’s nice to us. There’s a trampoline in the parking lot, and the parking lot is a garden. There’s bikes we can ride. But only Sam would need to cycle, anyway, because me, I have wings. And I can fly.”

Dean shut his eyes, hearing a few footsteps in the grass, as Cas cautiously crept around the tree.

Then Dean opened his eyes, head turned in shame towards Castiel, who peered towards him, eyes meeting Dean’s, checking for silent permission before looking elsewhere.

“Isn’t this a wish come true, then?” Castiel asked, having registered the dull-coloured wings, pressed to the tree.

Dean shrugged. “In every fantasy, once I fixed our lives with magic, I always realised there was nothing I wanted from our current living situation. There was no point staying. I wanted to be... free, maybe. Out here, in the woods.”

“You hate camping.”

“I don’t hate camping.” Dean gulped, looking Cas in the eyes. “I don’t hate camping, Cas. I got to spend time with Sam while we were camping. Alone. No adults, no pain, no rules. Yeah, food was hard to get, and yeah, in the end, I had to get Sammy to a hospital in a rush because of something bug-related he contracted from the lake water. But even so. Those were kind of the best two weeks of my life. And I know Sammy feels the same, because he comes back every damn year.” Dean felt himself tearing up, and he lowered his head, hand over his mouth.

“Given how that whole thing ended,” he went on, struggling to speak, “I failed the first time. I failed at camping. And I— I freakin’ hate the stage because – this is gonna sound – ugh – I failed at theatre performance. They were short on boys, and they _still_ turned me down in high school. Should’ve done somethin’ other than sing in my audition, ‘cause I can’t sing for peanuts. Pff. Doesn’t mean I don’t still fantasise about bein’ some Broadway star with a dozen musical numbers.” Dean chuckled, shrugging, arms around his middle.

His smile fell slowly, as it was a false smile, and he didn’t care to lie to Cas. “Sure, I kept Sam alive as a kid. But he’s got more than a few scars because of times I messed up. I failed at childcare, Cas. I’m a crappy parent. And I failed at being a kid, ‘cause I never really had the chance to _be_ one. I’m never getting that time back. But I still like childish stuff, maybe more now than I did back then. So I avoided comin’ out to Camp Sawtooth for as long as I could, because I wouldn’t fit in with an age group here and I knew it. And then I get here at Sam’s behest and I’m still failing, Cas. He wants me to do my job, so I do it, and he says I’m not having enough fun. He wants me to have fun, so I hang out with you, and he says I don’t understand the camp spirit. Sam’s disappointed with me no matter what I do. I can’t be a kid. I can’t be a parent. I can’t do anything right. So I’m just—”

“So you’re pretending you’ve magicked everything better and now you’re running away to the woods.”

“I can’t pretend,” Dean scoffed. “I fixed nothing. Didn’t even fix the tape deck, Charlie had to do it. This shit’s all real. I’m a failure and I can’t even hide right. See.” He threw his hands out to Cas. “Took you all of twenty-five minutes to find me.”

“I cheated,” Castiel smiled. “I, um, have a little magic of my own.”

Dean glanced away, unsettled. “R— Rowena...”

“Was she the culprit? Your fairy godmother?”

“She called me a child and said something about my inner fantasies running wild. Then about ‘doing what I’m supposed to do’. As if that would break this spell.”

“Well, what are you ‘supposed’ to do?”

Dean snorted, arms folding tighter as dusk fell absolutely, and his bare chest grew colder. “I don’t let people down,” he said firmly. “I do what I’m told. I do what people need me to do. I’m only _ever_ doing what I’m supposed to do. Right now, Cas, all I know is that I’m _not_ supposed to be hiding in the woods. But I’m here anyway. Beyond that? God knows.”

Castiel tilted his head. “You’re self-aware enough to tell me all of this,” he said carefully. “You know perfectly well why you _have_ wings. I highly doubt you have no clue whatsoever what you have to do to get rid of them.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Dean said, a little sharply. “What if I don’t want to get rid of them?”

He stepped forward and released his arms, rising at his sides as his fairy wings flared out. They were huge and round-cornered, spreading past the tips of his fingers. They were dirt-brown, darker at the edges and light green in the middles.

“Crazy as they are, they’re kind of awesome,” Dean said, annoyed. “Maybe I don’t wanna go back to normal. Maybe I don’t _wanna_ be a grown-up with expectations to meet. Maybe I’ve been meeting people’s expectations all my life and all I ever wanted was a moment to goof off. Be a kid again.”

Castiel dipped his head in acknowledgement, maintaining eye contact. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay. Stay in the woods and eat berries.”

Dean drew back his chin in surprise. “You’re not gonna stop me?”

“Do you want me to stop you?”

Dean gaped as dusk consumed them, purple haze and fuzzy black shadows stealing the space between trees.

He turned his back on Castiel, and Castiel reached out, thinking he was walking away, but then Dean spread his wings again: he was showing Castiel the rainbow on their backs. The colours caught the flashlight beam like an oil slick, gleaming.

“There’s this thing about me, Cas. Maybe you know.” Dean looked back over his shoulder, but not far enough to see Cas. “I, uhm. I never had a chance to... experience childhood in a safe environment. I never had a stable life. So my magic kiddie fantasies... kind of became my safe place. You can get that, right?”

“Of course,” Castiel agreed. “You imagined yourself a better life, unbound by reality’s cruel limitations.”

“Yeah. But, like... fantasy’s not reality, is it? Imagining a safe place ain’t actual safety. So when me n’ Sammy grew up, I did my damn best to make it all as real as I could: I made Sam safe, I fixed his life, I supported him, and now—? Dammit, I will keep on helpin’ him, I’mma do everything he needs me to do. Real action, real life.

“But... God, reality sucks. Even now I’m grown up, some stuff... I can’t. I can’t. I avoid eating the same foods I made for Sam when we were kids. I point-blank refuse to sleep in a tent. Won’t sink my feet into the mud, either, or go three fuckin’ weeks without a fresh pedicure. _Why?_ Because.” Dean palmed his forehead, sighing. “Because, Cas. I spent my whole life making sure me and Sam ate better, slept in a good bed, and that neither of our feet would ever walk bare again.”

Dean hung his head, ears burning, feeling Cas’ steady gaze on the back of his neck. Voice roughening, he went on, “Real world’s a thing I gotta tackle every day, just like everyone else. But fantasies are still my happy place. Makes sense, right? Daydreaming about random crap, hanging onto my wings, clinging to whatever shreds of childhood whimsy I have left in me... It feels safer, that’s all. It’s _easier_ than cowboying up and doin’ the crap I _really_ wanna do in real life. Crap that has actual consequences.”

Dean faced Cas again, trembling through an exhale. “Listen. I hid the fact I was into guys almost my whole life, Cas. I’ve still never even told Sammy. He knows, don’t get me wrong, but I never told him outright. I’m— I’m not scared, exactly. I just don’t like showing people... that. That part of me. The part that actually enjoys people. Guys. Men.” Dean puffed out a tough breath. “I think what I’m supposed to do is... tell you.”

Castiel restrained a chuckle. “Wait. Do you really think this is about your sexuality? Truly, Dean? I already know you like men. Besides, you’ve pressed an erection against me every night this week while you slept. This is hardly a surprise. And it’s _not_ your deepest secret, I know that much.”

Dean blushed and looked away. “You told me you love me.”

“Yes.”

“And.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, wings softly fluttering in the early night air. “And I knew it the moment you said it, I needed to tell you. Damn the consequences. I’m supposed to tell you. I like you back.”

Castiel tilted his head, smiling. “You already told me we’re friends.”

Dean let out a breath. “I _reallyreallyreally_ like you, is that better?”

“We do have a more profound bond than most, that’s true.”

Dean clutched his forehead, then spread his hands and wings in exasperation. “Fine! I frickin’ love you, okay? I wanna keep my wings because I wanna be a kid again _and_ because I’m scared _shitless_ of telling you I actually love you back like an adult or whatever. And wanna be with you and grow old with you and crap. But. But there, it’s done, I – _y’know_ – you, and maybe now I’ve said it I’m gonna lose the wings but—” He looked over his shoulder. Then he slumped, confused. “But. Wings are still there?”

Castiel stared at Dean. “You love me?”

“Yeah, in the gay romance-y way, go figure,” Dean grumbled. “Sue me for not saying it earlier. Guess it takes a meddling witch and me losing my boots and my most interesting pair of jeans in a magic rabbithole to make me say it.”

Castiel touched a hand to his own heart, feeling it thudding. Rushes of excitement lifted over and over in his chest, making his hands weak, but he kept his grip on the chunky flashlight. He shuddered, shaking his head, a smile finally coaxed onto his lips.

Dean looked at Cas, and Cas looked at Dean.

Then Dean sighed. “Maybe saying it ain’t enough. Maybe I’m supposed to—”

He darted forward, cupping Castiel’s cheek – hesitated – then nudged close and gave Castiel a surprise kiss. He dropped back, looking at his wings. “Huh. Still there.”

“Maybe,” Castiel said, breathless, “you’re meant to do more than _peck_ me.”

“Was that a suggestion?”

Castiel replied, “Absolutely.”

So Dean pushed Cas against the tree trunk and _smooched_ him, hands in his hair, their hips thick together; a grunt, then a moan escaped Dean’s throat, head turned, kisses brutal... then... soft.

Sensual.

Tender and slow and gentle.

Castiel shivered as he felt the texture of Dean’s tongue pushed slick over his lower lip. In a burst of excitement, Dean drew air into his nose, rushing cool past Castiel’s cheek.

Dean pulled back with an exhale, his attention on Castiel’s swelling lips, then gazing, stunned, into his eyes. Castiel smiled at him, astonished at being handled so lovingly. Castiel could feel Dean was hungry for more, but only dared sample a taste, not wanting to push too far.

Castiel reached to stroke Dean’s wings.

Dean shivered, eyes closing. “Can feel it,” he whispered. “Can feel your fingertips...”

Castiel uttered, “I know only what you’ve told me of Rowena’s curse, so I can’t be certain... but perhaps what you’re supposed to do is not simply kiss me. But something else.”

“But kissin’ you is what I really wanted,” Dean said, embarrassed as he stepped back, rubbing his cheek. “Unless I’m meant to, like, give you a super-intense screaming orgasm or somethin’. That would _definitely_ prove I’m a grown-up.”

Castiel pretended not to blush at the knowledge that Dean wanted to ignite him with pleasure. “But even _that_ isn’t all.” Castiel came up behind Dean when he turned, placing his hand on the rainbow gossamer, running his fingertip from red through yellow, then along from blue to pink. “It’s not all you want.”

“Y-You mean – we should start dating... or—?”

“I’m not the only thing you want from life, Dean,” Castiel said with considerable amusement. “From this place. This situation. The people here. What other ways could you embrace hidden desires?”

Dean snorted, storming away. “This is all Rowena’s fault. What did she do, turn me into a fairy? Maybe I’m meant to embrace _that_. What do fairies do, prance around? Grant wishes? Ha!” Dean leapt forward, arms out, pouncing away from the tree. “Hah!” He jumped again, pirouetting angrily. “ _Hah!_ ” He gave out big, elegant leap, arms out, landing on tip-toes—

And then he fell with a splat into a muddy creek.

“Dean—” Castiel dropped the flashlight and ran to Dean, chortling in amusement as he fished him out of the mud. The stream had dried up in the summer heat, but there was thick gloop left over, all stuck to Dean’s left side now. Dean grunted and grumbled as Castiel lifted him to his feet. Then he saw how widely Castiel grinned, and he burst out laughing, folding forward.

Castiel laughed with him, scrunching the feathered vest on Dean’s back, knees weakening. He flopped towards the nearest tree, blind with laughter, and Dean stumbled after him, guffawing, breathless, rough-voiced with sounds that scared the birds into silence but made Castiel laugh harder.

Still snickering, Dean rested against the tree, facing it, leaving his natural rainbow exposed. Castiel lay his cheek on the back of Dean’s neck, embracing him, laughing when the mud transferred to him too. Dean was shaking in his arms, delicate wings shivering.

Castiel was the first to settle himself calm, nuzzling his nose against Dean’s warm shoulder. The vest smelled like the costume box, but also like the pure, farmland oxygen of his rabbit void, and now... like Dean.

Dean calmed too, head turned a bit, looking at his own wings as they moved.

“Cas?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Dean turned completely, and they held hands, facing each other.

“Seriously, if it’s not about indulging my inner child, or telling you how I feel, how do I know what I’m ‘supposed’ to do? How do I decide? How do I know— What if I’m supposed to do nothing and keep the wings? Or ‘follow my bliss’ or some meaningless shit like that. Should I do what everyone tells me to, be a good little soldier, and hope these things someday go back to being stockings stretched over bent wire? As a kid I wished to be a fairy but that— That’s not me any more. This isn’t me. I grew up. I’m _supposed_ to grow up.”

“Dean,” Castiel said with a smile, “forget anyone else’s expectations. Live the way that feels right. Stay out here and eat berries. Or come back and eat chili fries. Whichever you want more, regardless of the consequences, or how other people feel about it, just do it.”

“If I go back to the camp everyone’s gonna see the wings.”

“So let them.” Castiel smiled. “Let them see that dazzling, Broadway-worthy rainbow of yours.”

“And if I stay out here?”

“I’ll stay with you,” Castiel promised. “But,” he added, “I say this without judgement, only concern: I don’t think that’s a good idea. Perhaps you _are_ drawn to the deep woods. But you’re quite partial to clean beds, too. And all this mud isn’t going away without a soapy shower.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah.”

“Come on,” Castiel gave his hand a tug. “I saved you some chili fries. I’ve left them in the care of Eileen, armed with aluminium foil.”

“Good hands.”

“The very best.”

Dean looked deeper into the forest, into the blue corners and the sweeping branches above. Sleepy birds chirped down to him, asking him to make up his mind.

Dean turned to the path, and stepped back towards Camp Sawtooth, muddy fingers intertwined with those of his most beloved friend.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

“You said you could fly.” Castiel spoke tentatively, but walked confidently, leading Dean out of the forest, flashlight aimed at the path. “Can you really fly?”

Dean shrugged, feeling exposed as they left the shelter of the woods and entered the open clearing, near to the canteen. There were lights on in the line of cabins and tents, golden squares pouring pools of warmth onto the earth. Doors had been left open, flyscreens drawn across; children’s happy voices hooted and chattered faintly, echoing through the camp. Dean could hear a washing machine rumbling, and somebody in the kitchens rinsing cutlery in a sloshing plastic tray. A musical bassline stopped and started; Charlie was probably fiddling with the tape deck in the canteen, trying to fix it before the karaoke contest tomorrow.

“Have you tried?” Castiel asked, turning his back on the camp, looking completely at Dean. “Have you tried to fly?” One hand stayed connected with Dean’s, the other handling the flashlight. He lowered the light, leaving Dean’s vision dim.

Dean sighed and looked up. The stars were coming out – one, two, three... Just faint pinpricks of twinkling white on the heaving ocean of deep purple. The stars seemed to wink at him. _Go on_ , they said. _Go on, kid._

Dean cocked his head, curious, and perhaps confident enough to wonder if it might work. “Don’t laugh if I screw up.”

“There’s no failing,” Castiel said with a smile. “Really. You can’t be so afraid of doing it wrong that you never try, Dean. Haven’t you ever played Jenga? When it’s your turn, you pull out a block from the tower. The _point_ is that it collapses eventually. And every time you reassemble it, intending to win this time, but still never truly knowing whether you’ll be the one to pull the last block.”

“You going all Yoda on me, now?” Dean scoffed. “ _Do, or do not, there is no try_...”

“I don’t fully understand that reference. But. No. It’s okay to have things fall down, Dean. That’s part of the game. That’s the point at which you rebuild, knowing which mistakes to avoid next time.”

Dean sighed, hands running back through his hair. “Problem is, if I fall down, I’m falling _down_.”

Castiel chuckled, pressing close to Dean, giving his cheek a warm, bristly kiss. “I’ll be here to catch you,” he promised, almost in a whisper.

Dean gulped. He looked up at the stars again – still winking – and then eased Cas back a few paces with a soft push on his shoulder. “Here goes, I guess.”

He shut his eyes and fluttered his wings. They moved, Dean felt them move; he felt cool air rush where the feathered vest wasn’t long enough to cover his lower back. He put his head down and _flapped_ , imagining himself like a helicopter with a speeding propeller, engines whirring, rising in pitch. He clenched his fists, he curled his bare feet in the dirt. _Come on come on come on—_

He ran out of air and mental power, and sighed, relaxing. “Nope. Can’t fly.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Was it this hard when you were a child? In all your fantasies, did you struggle like this?”

Dean scoffed. “No.”

“Did you have to think about flying?”

“Sometimes.”

“Or... did you perhaps lift from the ground, effortlessly... divorced from _gravity_ , your body so light and breezy... delicate wings matching your movements, as you rise up, up...”

Castiel stopped talking.

Dean gazed back. “What?”

Castiel started to smile. “Maybe don’t look down.”

Dean looked down. He yelped and curled his legs up, dropping two feet to the dirt. He landed with a hop, a stumble, and then let out a panting, shaking laugh, hands reaching to grab Cas’ as he offered support. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

Castiel chuckled. “How did it feel?”

Dean shook his head, grinning, breathless.

Excited, he let go of Cas and leapt up in a backflip, turning over himself and swooping down to the ground. “Ow-OWh!” he whooped in ecstasy. He felt like a fish in the air, coming full circle, ready to put his feet back where they started – but then kept bobbing, hovering over the ground. He leaned back easily, relaxing with his legs bent like he was sitting in the air.

“I’m flying,” he whispered, looking in amazement at Cas. “This is real frickin’ life and I’m _flying_.”

Most unusually, Castiel seemed distracted from Dean. He looked back over his shoulder, then the other way, then back to Dean.

His voice was soft but urgent as he asked, “Did you intend to show your friends what you are? Sam? Or anyone?”

Dean shrugged. “Sure. But it’s not like anyone would believe it, what’s the point?”

Castiel tilted his head towards the cabins, indicating Dean should look.

Dean looked. And he dropped out of the air and fell on his ass in shock. The porches of the cabins were populated with the silhouettes of eager-eyed children, all amutter, whispering, grinning, yanking their friends out to make sure they saw. Dean’s eyes skipped along the lines of cabins, but he didn’t see Sam anywhere. He and Cas were the only adults here.

“You could show Sam,” Castiel said, helping Dean to his feet. “He’ll believe this is real if he sees the wings. Maybe he’ll be as delighted as everyone else.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

‘Yeah’ he could.

Not ‘yeah’ he wanted to.

He wanted something else.

Dean gulped. Steeling himself, he went up to the nearest cabin, beckoning to a kid. “Hey. It’s, uhhhh... Darcy, right?”

“Yep.” The leader of Team Pie leaned down, the little girl with dark skin and two thick pigtails. “Are you really a fairy?” she whispered. “That’s sick.”

Dean spread his arms, grinning a bit. “I am what I am, right? Yeah, I’m a fairy.” He gave a majestic twirl, showing off the rainbows on the backs of his wings. The girls cried out in excitement, and even the boys gave coos of wonder. Word had spread, and those farthest away had started to leave their cabins and tents and pad closer in their pyjamas and slippers, mouths agape with awe. Dean gave them a grin, letting his wings flutter in nervous thrill.

He looked back over his shoulder, and saw Castiel only a pace behind; he was there to support him. Catch him if he fell, even if he only stumbled.

Dean let out a breath. “Okay.” He turned back to the kids. “I got wings,” he said, to Darcy, and then to the others. “I got wings, and an evening to spare. And I wanna— I wanna do something awesome with you guys. All of you together.”

Darcy shared a glance with the girl next to her. Then looked back at Dean. “Like what?”

“Like...?” Dean shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something adults do but kids love too. Something that would be hilarious to watch me fail at. God knows. Archery? Kayaking— No, wait, baaaad idea in the dark. Uh. Fireside storytelling? I know a good one about... some people... getting lost in space?”

The crowd grew, and pondered potential activities. Kids started taking photos with their phones, and Dean very subtly struck a pose, chest out, chin up, hand draped from one shoulder.

“You’re a really _big_ fairy,” said a girl with a pink blanket hung over her shoulders, looking at Dean as if she took mild offence.

Dean offered an apologetic grin, cocking his head. “Believe me, kiddo, I’d be daintier if I could.”

“Excuse me, you make a fine fairy,” Castiel said, taking his place at Dean’s side, giving him a gentle look. “Beautiful. A beautiful fairy. Truly, I mean that.”

“Are you kidding? He’s all _hairy_ ,” the girl said, definitely offended now.

Castiel looked cross with her, but spoke softly. “He’s made that way. He doesn’t have to be what you expect to be perfect at being what he is. He is _radiant_.”

“Am kinda hairy though,” Dean muttered, looking down, trying to tug the feathered vest and harem pants to cover his happy trail.

“So what?” Castiel chuckled. He addressed the crowd, admitting, “He’s kind of a hairy fairy,” arms open in a shrug – then he slung one arm around Dean’s lower back, “and I love him like that.”

“Dude-dude-dude. Dean.” A sporty tomboy with a snub nose and messy haircut waved from nearby, perched on the border of her cabin’s porch.

“Hey?” Dean gave her an up-nod. “Who are you and what’s up?”

“Um. Kara?” Kara pointed at the canteen, where random notes of bass still blared and then went silent. “What about karaoke? You could sing the worst song ever and it would be funny. My mom does that a lot.”

“Ah! Yeah!” cried another kid, joined by a bunch of pre-teens in the gathering crowd, who started to whisper excitedly.

“Karaoke?” Dean scratched his chin. His cheeks were burning.

“Not a bad idea,” Castiel said, nudging Dean’s side. “You did say you dreamed of singing to an audience.”

“Uh, singing on _stage_. Having someone fill the seats is way different,” Dean uttered, but then bowed his head, smiling as he sighed. “Guess y’all could all fit in there at once, though. Safe room. Doors to keep out the bugs. Good lights.”

“ _Disco_ lights,” said the leader of Team Cake, gleefully. Peter, Dean vaguely recalled.

“Disco lights,” Dean repeated, sighing. “Okay. Karaoke it is.” He smiled at Cas. “Let’s go fail for fun.”

He led the way to the canteen, not sure if he wanted to find Sam there. He felt odd, having fifty small humans following him like ducklings, watching his wings, but he felt secure, knowing Cas was among them.

All the lights were on in the canteen. The tables were empty, the buffet line was clear. Eileen was spraying and wiping the tables, while Charlie was over by the back wall, hoodie sleeves rolled up, karaoke mic in hand. The mic gave a whistle of feedback as Dean entered, and Charlie huffed in alarm as Dean was followed in by an unending line of chattering children.

The crowd lingered by the door, slowly growing, all eyes fixed on Dean. Dean couldn’t blame them – he looked awesome. Even _with_ emerald green costume pants and a vest straight out of a 90s club scene, he looked awesome.

Charlie approached, arms folded. “Aren’t you all supposed to be in bed?” she asked.

“Heyy, my bad,” Dean said, thumbing over his shoulders. “Got myself a lil sitch. Having your whole understanding of fantasy versus reality turned upside down... well, it really keeps a kid up at night.” He gave his wings a happy flitter, watching with glee as Charlie’s expression went from concerned through to curious to surprised, then shocked, and now, as Eileen came up behind her, joyous.

“I knew it,” Charlie yipped, hands clamped over her mouth. “I knew it, I _knew_ it. Shhhhh. Rowena told me but I didn’t— Oh, wow...”

Eileen shook her head, eyes darting to Castiel. She signed something which Dean didn’t catch.

But Cas responded to her aloud, “They’re real. Very, _very_ real.”

Dean and Castiel shared a glance.

“Where’s Sam, though,” Dean said. “Wai-wait— More importantly – is the tape deck working yet?”

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Sam was taking out the trash. He’d given up even _considering_ asking Dean to do it. Sure, Dean wouldn’t turn down the job. If Sam caught him in a good mood, Dean might not even complain about it. But Sam knew, deep down, Dean would rather not be taking out the trash. So Sam wasn’t going to make him.

Sam put the metal lid back on the trashcan as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake up the kids. He made his way back between two cabins, lost in thought. Bones trotted at his heels, silent, tail wagging.

Rowena seemed to insist none of Dean’s despondency was Sam’s fault. Dean was out of his comfort zone. Rowena was of the opinion that a comfort zone ought to grow for the sake of someone else, and to refuse was selfish – and to some extent, Sam agreed. But Sam had lived with Dean all his life; Rowena only knew a fraction of how Dean worked.

Dean had pushed his boundaries every damn day for God knew how many years. He did all of it, always, for Sam’s sake. He’d done things Sam didn’t want to think about, for Sam’s safety and for his basic needs, and Dean hadn’t complained about those things.

No, it wasn’t Sam’s fault that Dean didn’t want to throw his soul into entertaining the community around here. The guy was within his rights to bring his own cheese from home. He could opt out of swimming in a lake if he wanted. He didn’t _have_ to grill burgers and put mustard smiley-faces on the buns. There was no rule against being business-only. Okay, the whole point of the camp was to do things beyond one’s known capabilities. But mostly that concept was for the kids, not the adults.

But what was so bad about having fun, exactly? Was there an unwelcome vulnerability in smiling or laughing? Did Dean think the kids would judge him for breaking a sweat?

In so many years, Sam had rarely asked anything of Dean; Dean had provided anyway.

It just hurt that the one time Sam asked for help, Dean found his limit. Sam was upset purely because he didn’t understand why.

“Samuel,” Rowena crooned, waiting at the corner of a cabin, beckoning. “Follow me. I think there’s something you need to see.”

“Oh, no, what _now_?” Sam asked in regret, expecting something sticky, bloody, or broken. He trudged after Rowena, mind going frantic over what he was about to discover.

With a smile, Rowena led Sam up the steps to the canteen. Bones barked, leaping forward, then rushing ahead. Sam raised his eyebrows, hearing the tootling mumble of the karaoke machine blasting tunes, and some gruff-voiced fool yowling along, tone-deaf but operating with immense confidence anyway. He heard a crowd laugh, and cheer, and Sam stopped on the fourth step, realising that was the sound of fifty kids having a great time.

“I was gone all of three minutes, what the hell happened?” Sam asked, standing at the open door. A blue beam flashed in his eyes, followed by a rainbow sweep of disco lights. He entered warily, ducking so he didn’t hit his head on the door frame.

The tables were full; every seat was taken by kids and adults alike. They watched the back of the room with huge grins and beat-clapping hands, all in their pyjamas. Over at the back, Charlie manned the tape deck and the disco lights, while Dean and Cas stood together like they were on a stage, howling off-key notes and clutching at each others’ shoulders.

Sam didn’t even recognise the song, that’s how badly they were singing.

The song came to an end, and the room filled with applause, the kids clearly _enjoying_ the fact that Dean caterwauled like a drunk donkey. Or maybe they were cheering for Cas, they liked Cas a lot. Cas gazed at Dean like he was his whole world, his body close, hip pressed to Dean’s.

Dean caught Sam’s eyes across the room, and gave a friendly wave. “Heya, little brother,” he said into the mic. “How’d you like my wings?”

Sam squinted in bemusement as Dean turned around, showing off a half-perky pair of children’s costume wings. They looked muddy. Dean turned back around, shooting finger guns to the crowd. “Hairiest, most awesome fairy you’ll ever meet.”

Another song started, and Dean swept Cas closer, placing a kiss on his cheek before they ruined the opening notes together.

Eileen came up next to Sam. Sam looked at her, asking, “What’s he talking about?” Eileen didn’t hear, so Sam touched her arm gently and asked again, while she read his lips, “What’s going on? Why are all the kids out of bed?”

Eileen shook her head, and signed quickly, “The wings were real until about a minute ago.”

Sam snorted. “Uh-huh.”

“Really,” Eileen said with urgent conviction. She scrambled for her cellphone, hurriedly finding Sam a photo of Dean, taken from behind. She showed him.

Sam’s jaw dropped. The wings in the picture were huge and majestic, with more colours in them than a triple-stacked crayon suitcase. Eileen reached and swiped to a video, showing the moment during the karaoke that Dean went from shyly shuffling, awkwardly speaking his lines, to hitting a good note and _belting_ it out, awful and broken, but the sheer _relief_ in his eyes was enough to make Sam tear up. Cas had joined Dean on their ‘stage’, singing to him, call and response. The wings seemed to melt away, fading to mere scraps as the two men serenaded one another.

“Celine Dion?” Sam smiled. “I love Celine Dion.”

“So does he.” Eileen pointed casually at Dean. “But... I think he loves Cas more.”

Sam smiled at the pair, who kept on singing, facing each other, like there was nobody else in the room. “Yeah.” Sam chuckled. “Yeah, he really does.”

Every annoyance Sam harboured about Dean refusing to have fun, it all went away with a pop of streamers and a twinkle in his eye. Dean had never looked more free. This was precisely what Camp Sawtooth was all about. After everything, Dean _did_ get it.

The hair on the back of Sam’s neck prickled. “Was this you, Rowena?” He turned, catching the witch’s sly eyes. “Of course it was you. I shouldn’t even ask.”

“You assume a lot,” Rowena said, somehow dismissive and acknowledging at the same time. “So naive of anyone to think I’m the only one around here who can turn silly fantasies into reality.”

“And?”

“And I only went so far this time.” Rowena slunk up to Sam’s side, giving a smug little shrug. “I daresay your dear friend Castiel had a hand in helping Dean come around, whether he used magic or not. And Dean himself? Well! I think he’d just been waiting for some excuse to tear his own walls down. Sometimes that’s all we need. An excuse. A pretense, you might say. Such as...?” She leaned close, uttering to Sam, “Such as settling your brother into a cabin with his poor heartsick friend and only one wee bed?”

Sam felt his ears burning. “I don— I didn’t! Dean said it was fine! I didn’t do anything. I figured Cas would help him settle in, that’s all.”

“Please.” Rowena touched Sam’s arm, then slipped her manicured hand away. “You planned everything here meticulously. And you’re no stranger to meddling, Samuel. Do you know, I’m almost proud of you.”

Sam chuckled, arms folded, watching the worst performance ever with a happy warmth in his heart.

   


⋆★⋆

  
 

Castiel could tell that Dean had made the right choices tonight, and knew it. He stepped into the cabin ahead of Castiel, and his shoulders sank, his breath left him, and he turned around with relief in his eyes.

“What was it you said about me and clean beds?” Dean asked, smiling.

“You’re partial to them?”

Dean chuckled, easing into Castiel’s personal space, eyes lowered. “Sounds about right.” Castiel expected a kiss, but Dean only reached past to shut the door behind them. He moved away again, and Castiel glanced back, seeing a single moth fluttering around inside.

“I know you said you’re a night shower guy,” Dean said, thoughtfully taking off his costume wings, looking at them. “But, uh.” He gestured to his muddy self. “Mind if I...?”

“I’ll wash in the sink,” Castiel agreed, peeling off his own muddy t-shirt. “I’m only wearing second-hand mud.”

Dean licked his lips, eyes lingering on Castiel. “Thanks.”

He took a towel only, and disappeared behind the bathroom door. Castiel took his time cleaning himself up in the kitchen sink, thankful for the hot water. He returned to the bed with his dirty clothes in his hands, but paused there, looking at the wings Dean had left on the bed.

Castiel dropped his own clothes and picked up the wings, opening them out. They were nothing but stockings stretched over craft wire, tied in a bobble down the bottom. There were holes poked here and there, and the dye seemed faded from the sun. They were so ordinary. So plain.

And yet they had the potential to be beautiful three-foot holographic beasts.

Castiel was still studying them when Dean came out of the bathroom, sparkling clean. He had a towel around his waist, and kept it there as heat broiled off his skin, steaming up Castiel’s knee as Dean bent past him, getting clean underwear from the bag on the floor.

Putting down the wings, Castiel lay back on the bed, head on his pillow, looking softly at Dean. Dean didn’t notice for a while, but when he did, he smiled, ducking his head. “Tomorrow,” Dean said, “I’m gonna – I dunno. Get in a kayak, maybe.”

Castiel sat up on his elbows. “You might get wet. And dirty.”

Dean shrugged, tossing away his towel now he was modest. “The showers work. And I’ve had all my shots.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows, smiling. “Will you eat in the canteen?”

“If you’re there? Sure. I brought backup cheese.”

Castiel chuckled, sitting up completely, then scooting over so Dean could get into the bed. Dean crawled close, but sat cross-legged over the covers instead of lying down. “You know what?” he said. “I’m gonna take an archery class.”

Joy rose in Castiel’s heart. “Yeah?”

“And – fencing?”

Castiel leaned close, knocking his shoulder softly to Dean’s chest. “If you like, I’d be happy to assist you. This might surprise you, but I carry inside me some rather intimate knowledge on how to handle a sword.”

“Awesome.” Dean seemed shy, but looked up at Cas – then lurched to kiss him. Once. Softly. Then he huffed a laugh and lay down, wriggling to get cosy under the covers.

“Dean?” Castiel lay down behind him, chest to Dean’s back. He stroked his hair gently. “Am I crazy to ask what changed your mind? Until tonight you turned your nose up at actually doing the activities here... And now? Karaoke, of all things.”

Dean rolled a shoulder, face halfway pushed into his pillow. He gazed into the unsteady light of the lantern, balanced on a crate beside the bed.

“Was it Rowena’s spell?” Castiel asked. “The wings?”

Dean shrugged.

Castiel wasn’t sure what else it could’ve been, but Dean’s shrug didn’t seem convincing. “Was it the realisation that not trying the things you want because you’re afraid of failing, or you think you’re too old, is an utterly ridiculous way to live?”

Dean snorted and rolled over, giving Castiel a bitter stare, while smiling. “It’s a fine way to live, Cas. Don’t try, don’t fail. Don’t fail, don’t plunge yourself into a spiraling vortex of anxious doom. And don’t break a hip, either.”

Castiel squinted.

Dean laughed, patting Castiel’s chest. “Maybe I’ll try a few things. You know. In a situation where failing is part of the process. Part of the fun. It’s all Jenga, right?”

“Jenga.” Castiel rolled his eyes, resting his chin on Dean’s chest, gazing at him. “All the world’s a game of Jenga. Some towers are simply bigger than others.”

“Okay, Shakespeare,” Dean uttered, bouncing in the bed to roll over, eyes shut, nuzzling his forehead to Castiel’s sternum, arms around his waist. “I don’t wanna think about everything collapsing right now. ‘Specially not with you.”

Castiel kept his eyes open, fingers stroking ponderously through Dean’s damp hair. “Our relationship is stable, Dean. It can be, anyway. We have friends who’d support us. My feelings for you haven’t waned, and I doubt you chose to return my affections without knowing for certain you’d be able to sustain your feelings.”

“That’s not the issue,” Dean mumbled into Castiel’s chest. “I just—” He pulled back, looking sternly at Cas, a new depth in his eyes that showed his fear and determination with a balanced darkness. “I want this to work.”

“Then... what will it take for it to work?”

“Me,” Dean gulped. “Me not being a chicken about asking for what I want. For myself. With you. With other people. I’m gonna have fun, goofy adventures and fix people’s lives and whatever. Like you and Sammy. Even if I look like some tree-hugging dumbass doing it.”

Castiel smiled, kissing Dean’s forehead.

“Don’t let me forget,” Dean whispered. “Don’t let me forget that fantasising about crap doesn’t make it real. I gotta— I gotta take action.” Dean gripped Castiel’s hand under the covers. “Keep reminding me how much everything sucks when I don’t take action.”

“That’s not my job,” Castiel said.

“What?”

“I’m here to support you and pull you forward, Dean, but I’m not going to use fear to motivate you. If you don’t remember what you learned on your own, what was the point of any of this? Rowena and her wings...? No. You embraced your inner child by your own volition. If the memory of the experience wasn’t enough, what would be?”

Dean seemed dumbfounded, silent.

Castiel smiled, lifting himself up enough to kiss Dean’s shoulder. “Here,” he said, rolling Dean onto his front.

“Ooh?” Dean said, intrigued. “Hello.”

“Oh, hush, I’m not about to do anything untoward.” Castiel kissed the back of Dean’s neck. “How do you feel about tattoos?”

“Uhhh... Awesome?” Dean tested. “Sexy.”

“What if you had a little reminder?” Castiel stroked Dean’s back, a slick hiss muffling as his palm sank under the sheets. “Not fear of failure, Dean, but a symbol of... what it feels like to give in to _doing_ what you want. Having what you crave. Embracing the part of you that seeks joy and silly fun and not being ashamed of it, not thinking it means you failed to grow up. _Flying_ , Dean, simply because you wish to.”

Dean inhaled. He lifted his head and looked back at Cas, who met his eyes, sharing a silent understanding.

“Would be several tattoo sessions,” Dean said. “Would hurt. My back, not to mention my pocket...”

“Does that scare you?”

“A bit.”

“Or.” Castiel kissed Dean’s ear. “An alternative...” He stroked his palm back up Dean’s spine, letting him feel a magical tingle. Dean gasped, tensing. “I could recreate what you had tonight. I can envision them more accurately than any tattoo artist would. I know what they really meant to you.”

Dean had started to pant. “You can— You can do that? Magic a tattoo onto me?”

“If you’ll agree, yes.”

“Yes.” Dean gulped, nodding. “Yes. Do it. Do it.” He grabbed Castiel’s free hand and clutched it. “Gimmie rainbow fairy wings.”

“Permanent,” Castiel warned.

“Best kind,” Dean grinned. He twisted to grab Castiel’s chin, and smushed a kiss onto his lips. “Best freaking kind.”

Castiel laughed, headbutting Dean gently. “Relax, then. Lie down.”

Dean lay down, hugging Castiel’s pillow. His breath shuddered as Castiel kissed his shoulder.

“How are you like this, Cas?” Dean asked in a whisper, at the first touch of Castiel’s palm to his shoulder blade. “Where did the magic come from?”

Colour and black lines spread from Castiel’s fingertips like ink in water, blooming across Dean’s pale, freckled muscles as if it all rose from within him, as if the colour had always been there but its veil burned away, singing at the sides to reveal blues, pinks, vivid lilacs.

“I didn’t always know,” Castiel admitted, as Dean’s spine poured down with black, bridging a blank side to a half-rainbow side. “There was a point in my life I thought I was boring and normal.”

Dean chuckled, but kept his back still.

“But one day I realised,” Castiel draw a fingertip down Dean’s ribs, drawing out a ribbon of jewel-saturated hues, “I created reality around my desires. I had since I was a child. It wasn’t like the movies, I didn’t make things float, or explode, or change shape. But I could save hurt animals, thinking I was just lucky, or they weren’t hurt too badly. I could draw what was in my mind, thinking I was just artistic.” He kissed Dean’s shoulder, palm pressed to his lower back. “I could bring friends into my life, just by believing I was valuable and worthy of love.”

He sat back, admiring his handiwork and it completed itself under his touch. “But,” he went on, “don’t think for one second that I didn’t fail at those things before I succeeded, Dean. Don’t think that. Birds died in my hands. I’ve squashed a few garden snails by mistake. I’ve been stung by bees. It took me years to be able to draw the way I wanted. And I had very few consistent friendships until I met Sam in my thirties.”

Dean turned over, feeling that Castiel was done. Rather than run to the mirror to see himself, he held Castiel’s eyes, concerned.

“But,” Dean said in confusion, “how the hell is it magic if you fail? If it takes practise? All that crap is just crap regular people do.”

Castiel chuckled, feeling all of him come alive at that statement. “Exactly.”

“What?”

“Dean—” Castiel kissed Dean’s lips. “Rowena barely did a thing. As far as I can tell she mostly makes soup and writes questionable poetry. But she is very good at being ‘witchy’ and that tends to make people think there’s something special going on.”

“So you’re telling me I got duped.”

“I’m telling you it was all you,” Castiel said. “Well,” he shrugged, “I’m sure Rowena helped activate some buried magic. It’s dormant in all of us. But—” he chuckled, hand rubbing the back of his head. “Aheh. Some of it is real. It’s often unpredictable. I’ll try and get your jeans and boots back from my pocket void. I suspected you’d lose something in there. All my rabbits hop off once they’re inside. They really seem to like it, they never want to come out.”

Dean stared.

Castiel blushed, and sank away from Dean’s body. “Go and take a look at your wings, Dean.”

Remembering himself, Dean glanced around, then got out of bed and went to the bathroom mirror. All Castiel heard was a sharp inhale and a yelp of, “Holy _shit_ ,” and Castiel began to grin, enjoying a long stream of flabbergasted muttering.

Dean came back a few minutes later, flushed and wide-eyed, staring at Castiel like he was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. Castiel felt somewhat nervous under that kind of scrutiny, but couldn’t deny he liked it. He could be revered, so long as...

So long as Dean let himself be worshipped right back.

Castiel kissed Dean’s neck, softly, holding his waist.

Dean’s breath shuddered, heart tapping on Castiel’s. He squirmed in the bed, letting out an uncertain “Ah?” of pleasure.

“Do you want...?” Castiel asked.

Dean took a moment to compose himself, sucking his lower lip, eyes shut, breaths slowly easing. He swallowed, then looked at Castiel. “Depends what you’re offering.”

Castiel smiled, resting his forehead on the pillow, eyes turned to Dean. “Depends what you’ll accept.”

Dean lay back, lips parted, exposing his neck. “Just a little more.”

Castiel grinned and obliged. He rested close to Dean and sucked his skin softly, wetly, licking his stubble and running swollen lips over his Adam’s apple. Dean moaned and the sound was deafening, beautiful.

“How much is a little?” Castiel asked, thigh between Dean’s. Dean was getting hard. Castiel was half-hard, but didn’t want to encourage himself by rubbing.

“Just – kiss me,” Dean whispered, relaxed, flutter-eyed, blush on his cheeks. “Ah— All over.”

Castiel grinned. “Yeah? Is that what you want?”

Dean nodded.

“Was it easy to ask?”

Dean peeked between his lashes. He smiled, then caressed Castiel’s jaw with tender fingers. “Great magic takes practise, right?”

Castiel nodded. “It’ll be easy someday.”

And with that, he set his lips to Dean’s neck again, and smooched and smacked and sucked his way down, blissed by the purrs and utterances that flew from Dean’s lips. “Hm— Hmmmmm, Cas...”

Castiel had barely made it to Dean’s stomach before he was rolled over, and Dean returned the favour, sucking on Castiel’s neck. Castiel gasped and went limp, trembling, not realising how glorious it would feel to be lavished with that kind of intimate attention. “Oh— Dean— Deaaan, oh my— G _uh_ —”

Dean laughed against him, lashes fluttering on the lobe of Castiel’s left ear. “How do you feel about hands?”

“A-h-hre they magic hands?” Castiel asked, dazed and dizzy, even with his eyes closed.

Dean stroked Castiel’s inner thigh and Castiel convulsed with sensation.

“Feel a tingle?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.”

Dean kissed his palm, then breathed out against it, hot. “Then yeah,” he mouthed into Castiel’s hand. Kiss, kiss. “Magic hands.”

He sank under the covers, and Castiel spread his legs, not knowing why, just knowing he should. He lifted his hips on instinct, pushing into Dean’s hands and face as he kissed places that had never seen the light of day, let alone felt the touch of another. Castiel keened, squirming for more, embarrassed that he was making the sounds he was making, but enjoying them nonetheless.

He wrapped his thighs around Dean’s head and relaxed as something hot and wet and soft took hold of his erection, and Castiel moaned, giving himself over entirely to the feeling. All thought vanished, and he only held onto Dean’s hair, stroking it as his head bobbed.

Castiel was only given a sample of Dean’s talents, however, as he emerged too soon, puffy-lipped, dark-eyed, his hair mussed from the sheets. He gave Castiel a kiss, deep and long, breathing and out as he did. “Mmmm,” he groaned, finally breaking the kiss to look at Castiel. Castiel peered back, short of breath, heart hammering and bright with lights.

“Hands,” Castiel panted, “aren’t all you have that’s magic.”

Dean chuckled, hiding his face against Castiel’s chin. “I’ve had practise,” he admitted. “Maybe kind of a lot of practise.”

Castiel smacked a kiss on Dean’s forehead, eyes sparkling as their gazes met once more. “I’m very new at this.”

“How ‘bout,” Dean said softly, giving Castiel knuckles a kiss, “we teach each other. All different kinds of... magic.”

Castiel nodded. “Starting with—” He pushed Dean back under the covers, and when Dean realised where he was being sent, he laughed and Castiel grinned back, collapsing down onto the pillow. He spasmed as he was swallowed down once more, and groaned deeply, teeth digging into his lip. “Deeeean...”

Castiel was not one to hesitate over his demands. Once he knew what he wanted, he asked. Dean wasn’t yet good at taking what he wanted, but he was, and always had been, good at doing what he was told. He took some pride in doing a job well.

Satisfying people.

Making them feel good.

Castiel writhed, head thrust back, mouth wide, wide open. “AAuhh?” he whimpered, hips rising, hands pulling Dean’s hair. He tipped his chin down to see Dean’s blushing face turned up at him as he sucked. “Dean— Dea— Deh— AAAAAh—”

Castiel had never screamed, not once in his adult life. Tonight, he screamed. Every cry came out low and droning but it was rough with high notes, shaking smiles.

Castiel screamed – and Dean _swallowed_.

And, at the end of it, Dean did something he’d maybe never done before: he asked.

“Use your hand,” Dean whispered to Castiel, lying back in a fever, looking up into his eyes. “Hard. And— And look at me?”

Castiel nodded, still sweating and breathless, but smiled as he did as Dean asked. They kept going as Dean gasped and squirmed and twitched, and grabbed at Castiel’s waist, shoulders, hair. Dean held Castiel’s eyes with focused desperation, panting his breaths, looking like all the world would fall apart if they broke eye contact. Castiel had never seen darker eyes, and if Dean weren’t obviously rapt with pleasure, he might have looked terrified.

Maybe he was. Just a bit. Scared of changing.

Wasn’t everyone? Even if it was for the better. Dean was giving something up, after all. Safety. Safety he’d worked for, striven for, fought for. In acts as small as getting into a kayak, putting a mustard smiley-face on his lunch, singing loudly during karaoke, no longer pretending he couldn’t remember the children’s names, turning his face to the crowd – and then turning his back, even more vulnerable – Dean was giving up the man he’d been all his adult life. There was something, some _one_ new underneath. Someone softer and sweeter – and happier.

Castiel brought Dean to climax with confidence he didn’t know he had, but realised Dean couldn’t even tell. He was too involved with his own ecstasy and fear... perhaps also in the midst of realising he’d been sexually intimate with his best friend without a moment to second-guess his choice. Despite the hard parts, it had felt so easy.

“There,” Castiel breathed, as Dean whimpered and panted, hot and floppy under Castiel’s straddling thighs. “Not too hard, was it?”

Dean laughed breathlessly, scrunching his fingers in Castiel’s hair. “Not any more,” he joked, as his penis slumped out of Castiel’s grip, spent.

Castiel snuggled up against Dean, kissing his neck. Kissing him felt different now – not only because his skin was hotter in temperature, but because it wasn’t so long ago when that kind of touch was still foreign. Their relationship had changed today, and there was no going back.

“Gotta ask,” Dean whispered. “You said before. Not sure if you were – uh – ‘sexually attracted’ to me. Are you? Now?”

Castiel snorted. “I think I answered that question, don’t you?”

Dean gazed at him. “So... yes?”

Castiel rolled a shoulder. “Enough that this was fun and I feel good.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded, squeezing an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “Awesome.” He smiled as he kissed Castiel, lips, lips, chin, cheek. They breathed out together, relaxing.

“Um.” Dean huffed. “Should probably get cleaned up again. Don’t wanna be crusty.”

Castiel snorted. “Towel’s on the floor.”

Dean groaned as he reached out of bed, and then collapsed back, hand stuffed under the blankets to clean himself, then Castiel, cold, damp towel making him wince.

Clean, Dean rolled to embrace Castiel, smiling. Castiel leaned over him to turn out the lantern.

Dean breathed out in the dark. “Cas?”

“Yeah.”

Dean kissed his neck. “If we fail— If everything does – fall down between us, someday...?”

Castiel scoffed. “Unlikely, but okay...”

“Not saying it will, or I want it to. But _if_ it does. Remember that we tried. Every day, every minute of every day, we tried. And that was the important part.”

They were quiet for a while.

Then Castiel said, with soft force, “We’re not falling anywhere, Dean. We’re flying.”

With that, he gave Dean a bold kiss, chuckled as Dean giggled, and they tumbled over in the bed, wrapped in sheets and each other. Dean hugged himself around Castiel, kissing his shoulder as they settled to sleep.

It didn’t take long for fantastic dreams to fill the void of darkness in their minds.

In both their dreams, they were soaring.

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

>  **☞** [reblog art by hit-the-books](https://hitthebooksposts.tumblr.com/post/185274369599/deancas-reverse-bang-2019) (forest drawing)  
>  **☞** [reblog header / fic masterpost](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/185441818655/deancasreversebang-title-hes-kind-of-a-hairy) (Dean & Cas on the bed)  
>  **☞** [reblog fic](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/185442367100/hes-kind-of-a-hairy-fairy) (text only)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you had fun! If you liked this fic, you'd enjoy [my other works](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works). Plenty of magic realism and curses and fairies, but mostly two silly human doofuses accidentally sharing a bed. At this point there's literally too many relevant fics to list here, you're better off looking through the whole list. :P
> 
> Fun fact: When I was little I used to imagine myself transforming into a wolf and jumping onto the classroom desks. Or being invisible so I could spy on the teachers while they enjoyed their (totally made up) private romances. And I never went to camp, so I now live vicariously through my characters. What were your magical childhood fantasies? And what were your camp experiences? I am... *steeples fingers*... most curious.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. 1 kudo = 1 chili fry saved for Dean! (Cas plans to steal some, however.)


End file.
